Living Among People: Chapter Five
Title: Living Among People: Therefore, We Are
Author: TeaOli
Characters, Pairings Everyone, S/U, ex-K/G
Warnings: This is a sequel to Playing With Toys
( Read The Awakening )
( Read They Rise )
( Read Interactions )
( Read Hunger )
Voodoo Kirk smiled and patted Jimmy’s pulsating side. “Good boy,” he murmured to the pink pecker who was now dusky with exertion. “Good boy.”
Jimmy nuzzled Voodoo, basking in the attention. He’d known from the first moment the tall, fuzzy being first stroked him in the room where their Maker lived that they were connected. Nothing felt as good as V. Kirk touching him. Not even sliding in and out of the Maker’s warm, wet place.
V. Kirk chuckled when Jimmy snuggled even closer, and he rubbed his hand over Jimmy’s head. Jimmy couldn’t stop the tiny spurt from erupting at the loving contact.
Instantly, Jimmy stilled in dear. He wasn’t supposed to spurt - not even in the warm, wet place. That much he knew.
But V. Kirk didn’t get angry. Instead, he just used his sleeve to wipe the stuff off Jimmy’s head and gave him an affectionate squeeze. “That’s my boy!” he said, and Jimmy shivered a little but was careful not to spurt again.
“Let’s get going, Jimmy,” V. Kirk said after one last cuddle. And then he lifted Jimmy in strong arms until Jimmy could reach another one of those door-opener thingies before lowering him to the floor again.
Hand in shaft, Jimmy and V. Kirk scuttled out of the empty corridor and into a little round room. Voodoo picked Jimmy up again and told him to press a different kind of button. Then Voodoo said, “Deck Five,” and the little round room began to move.
__________
Jenny frowned at the green girl standing in her master’s quarters. “Worst nightmare” was a pretty apt description. Not that Jenny had ever had a nightmare. She hadn’t even been to sleep since waking up for the very first time. But her master’s confusing behavior had driven her to do a little research. Everything she’d learned about green women pointed to trouble for Jenny.
Still, she knew this Orion wasn’t the reason her master seemed reluctant to make use of Jenny’s copious skills. She didn’t know how she knew, but she was positively certain her master wasn’t making use of her rival’s formidable talents, either. That wasn’t much to go on, but it was enough to boost the doll’s flagging confidence.
“You are not a nightmare,” Jenny lied. “You are an Orion girl on pheromone suppressors as dictated by Starfleet regulation 9350, subset 11, paragraph 47. And I am ‘Jenny 8675309, a fully-operational coital surrogate, guaranteed for one hundred fifty years of pleasurable play.’ I have been designed to ‘deliver more satisfaction than an entire skulk of Orion Animal Women infected with Estratetri Pollen.’ You are no match for me.”
Having successfully completed the most aggressive opening gambit she could think of, Jenny placed her hands on her shapely hips, mirroring the infiltrator’s pose.
The Orion’s eyes widened and she began to tremble minutely. Jenny knew from her research that these were signs of an imminent display of distress, usually followed by lachrimation, sometimes accompanied with a keening or convulsive respiration interruptions commonly called “sobbing.” As she had been designed to give delight and gratification, Jenny was loath to cause suffering in another being, even if that being was trying to usurp her place in her master’s life.
The doll stepped forward, ready to offer comfort and perhaps a word or two of advice to the hapless woman. Jenny existed to make people happy, after all. She could afford to be generous in her victory.
When she placed her hand on the Orion’s shaking shoulder, she was surprised to hear the loud burst of air that erupted from the green woman’s throat. While the Orion was convulsively gasping for breath, the sound was nothing like the audio files of sobbing. And, although she appeared to be lachrimating, her green cheeks bulged at the sides of her face, her pink lips tilted up at the corners and Jenny saw flashes of brilliant white teeth every time the woman paused to suck in more air.
“Are you… laughing, Orion Girl?” Jenny wanted know. Suddenly, she did not feel very sympathetic at all.
The Orion continued to shake and gasp, too rude to even compose herself and answer the question. Jenny found that she was beginning to feel a new feeling.
It was not happiness. Or sadness. Or even pity. It was certainly not fear; she had already experienced that and conquered it. Coital substitutes of her design were not supposed to feel negative emotions. (She ignored the voice at the back of her head that said coital substitutes of her design were not supposed to feel anything at all. Ever.) This new emotion, she realized, felt suspiciously like anger.
The Orion was now bent over, her hands on her knees. She continued to laugh.
Jenny learned the difference between anger and rage.
“Do not laugh at me, Orion Girl!” she shrieked. “I am Jenny 8675309-”
She was unprepared for the moment when the Orion woman reared up and wrapped a surprisingly strong green hand around her neck.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the woman said. “You’re a fully operational coital surrogate. I get it. What you don’t get is that you’re not needed here.” She cocked her head towards the master. “Jim Kirk has been getting plenty of pleasure without you. Otherwise you wouldn’t have had to take yourself out of the damned box.”
Jenny wondered how the Orion knew about that, but the woman wasn’t finished speaking.
“Now, we can work this out one of two ways: you can either stop following the captain around like a lovesick puppy or I can reprogram you so that you’re a fully operational shoe shiner guaranteed to lick boots for one hundred fifty years.”
She gave Jenny a tiny shake to emphasize her point. Jenny did not know enough about her own programming, or about why she had reached this new level of sentience, to openly doubt her.
“Which is it going to be, sweetie?” the Orion asked, her inflection gentle, as if she did not notice that she was squeezing Jenny’s throat in an increasingly tight grip.
Jenny was not born yesterday. Her awakening had occurred less than twenty-four standard hours before. But she was no dummy, either. She had been created as a fully operational coital surrogate. She did not intend to become a boot licker.
“I will refrain from behaving like a juvenile canine, Mistress,” she managed to squeeze out.
The Orion let go, then offered Jenny the hand that had so recently been throttling the doll. Jenny dutifully kissed it.
“My name’s Gaila,” she said. “But I kind of like the sound of ‘Mistress.’ And I’m not an animal woman. Got it?”
She smiled a captivating smile, and Jenny realized that her designers might have engaged in a bit of false advertising in claiming that she and her kind were more satisfying than even a single Orion female.
“It would be my pleasure to address you that way, Mistress,” Jenny replied.
“And I might just take you up on that, sweetie,” her mistress told her with a wink.
Then she turned to look at the master. With a start, Jenny realized that she had forgotten that he was still in the room. Only the irrefutable evidence of the Orion’s power to draw all attention onto herself saved the doll from feeling guilty about that.
“Anything else I can do for you, Captain?”
The master answered with a smile that was almost as alluring as the mistress’s. Jenny accepted her defeat gracefully. Clearly, these two were far beyond whatever her designers knew about sexual attraction.
“There are a lot of things you can do for me, Gaila,” the master murmured. “But I have a feeling you might kick my ass if I mention any of them.”
The mistress walked over to the master and wound her long green fingers through his golden hair. She leaned in and pressed full breasts against his muscled chest. With her lips mere centimeters from his, she whispered, “Damn straight.”
Releasing the master, the mistress turned back to Jenny. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you, sweetie,” she said. Then she walked over to the door and left.
“I can see you and the mistress have much to teach me, Master,” Jenny said after the door closed behind her.
__________
We must appeal to the Creator, Spock D. insisted.
Spock lifted an eyebrow. Uhura snorted.
“‘Creator’?” she queried. “You mean Gaila?”
Affirmative, confirmed Spock D.
She’s the only one who can help us, added Nyota D. You and Spock aren’t nearly as adept with a needle and thread as the Creator.
Uhura decided not to take insult at her mini’s observation because she knew it was true. Neither she nor Spock was any good at embroidery. Sure, Spock could hem a pair of uniform briefs or even fix a torn skirt - he had plenty of experience fixing the articles he occasionally ripped off her (very willing) body. And, fair only being fair, she’d learned to do the same for him, since, from time to time, she was just as guilty at being a little too eager to get at the goods.
But delicate work like the Dolls required was beyond their combined skill-set.
Still… “Look, Gaila still doesn’t admit to sewing you guys, herself,” she pointed out. “To this day, she claims to have had you made ‘at great personal expense, mind’ for Spock and me. Not even the thought of gaining a couple of worshiping disciples is likely to get her to come clean.”
We don’t worship her, Ennie, argued an offended Nyota D. Just because we recognize the fact that neither of us would exist without her doesn’t make her into our god or anything!
Spock D was more prosaic in his protest. I believe the prospect of two of her creations perishing due to lack of sustenance will be sufficient inducement for our… Fabricator to admit to her true role in our manufacture.
“I concur,” concurred Spock, and Uhura had to admit the two Vulcans had a point.
Nyota D’s tummy growled at the moment, and she bent over, clutching her midsection. Without even thinking about what she was doing Uhura picked her up and started rocking her plushy counterpart.
“Gods, Ennie,” she murmured. “I hope they’re right.”
They’d better be, said Nyota D.
__________
“Медведь? Tha’ means ‘bear,’ I believe?” Thomasina studied the brown teddy sitting across from where she stood on Montgomery’s bed. “Yer human hadnae much imagination, then?”
Medved bared his teeth in a completely non-threatening way. “He was only three years old when I get him,” he said defensively. “Already his папа and мама had filled his head with nothing but mathematic theory. What was to be expected of such child?”
Thomasina shook her furry head. “Ach, Mr. Bear,” she said. “My Montgomery was much the same with the engineering and the physics. I couldnae ha’ a name like ‘Honey’ or ‘Petal’ or ‘Mrs. Growly’ like other bears my age, could I? Naaaae, he ha’ tae name me after an auld Scots engineer naebody even knows aboot anymore. An’ he didnae even ha’ his mither or his faither to blame for it! He figured out how to obsess over them on his own.”
Medved chuckled at that, slapping a paw against his bare knee. “Pavel thinks Thomas Morton was Russian. Pavel thinks every great contributor to humanity is Russian. I try to teach boy, but..” He shrugged his great shoulders and sighed.
“I still try to tell Monty tha’ there’s more tae life than handsome nacelles and warp core engines. He doesnae listen to me, any more than he did when I could only talk inside his head.”
“It is difficult, nyet?” observed Medved. “Raising humans? The work of плюшевый медведь is never done.”
Slumping down next to him, Thomasina agreed, “Aye, under normal circumstances, we plyushevyĭ medvedi can never retire.”
Medved didn’t miss the conspiratorial twinkle in her honey-gold eyes.
“But now we are under not so ‘normal circumstances,’ da?” he said with a twinkle of his own.
A/N addendum: I apologize if плюшевый медведь is an inaccurate translation for the teddy bears.
As, Aphrodite319 has obliged me to explain, “skulk” is a collective noun for foxes. Since Orion Animal Women could arguably be considered “vixens” in the colloquial sense, I thought the term fitting. Thanks be to her for the ultra-quick beta.
Go to Chapter 6
Author: TeaOli
Characters, Pairings Everyone, S/U, ex-K/G
Warnings: This is a sequel to Playing With Toys
( Read The Awakening )
( Read They Rise )
( Read Interactions )
( Read Hunger )
Voodoo Kirk smiled and patted Jimmy’s pulsating side. “Good boy,” he murmured to the pink pecker who was now dusky with exertion. “Good boy.”
Jimmy nuzzled Voodoo, basking in the attention. He’d known from the first moment the tall, fuzzy being first stroked him in the room where their Maker lived that they were connected. Nothing felt as good as V. Kirk touching him. Not even sliding in and out of the Maker’s warm, wet place.
V. Kirk chuckled when Jimmy snuggled even closer, and he rubbed his hand over Jimmy’s head. Jimmy couldn’t stop the tiny spurt from erupting at the loving contact.
Instantly, Jimmy stilled in dear. He wasn’t supposed to spurt - not even in the warm, wet place. That much he knew.
But V. Kirk didn’t get angry. Instead, he just used his sleeve to wipe the stuff off Jimmy’s head and gave him an affectionate squeeze. “That’s my boy!” he said, and Jimmy shivered a little but was careful not to spurt again.
“Let’s get going, Jimmy,” V. Kirk said after one last cuddle. And then he lifted Jimmy in strong arms until Jimmy could reach another one of those door-opener thingies before lowering him to the floor again.
Hand in shaft, Jimmy and V. Kirk scuttled out of the empty corridor and into a little round room. Voodoo picked Jimmy up again and told him to press a different kind of button. Then Voodoo said, “Deck Five,” and the little round room began to move.
__________
Jenny frowned at the green girl standing in her master’s quarters. “Worst nightmare” was a pretty apt description. Not that Jenny had ever had a nightmare. She hadn’t even been to sleep since waking up for the very first time. But her master’s confusing behavior had driven her to do a little research. Everything she’d learned about green women pointed to trouble for Jenny.
Still, she knew this Orion wasn’t the reason her master seemed reluctant to make use of Jenny’s copious skills. She didn’t know how she knew, but she was positively certain her master wasn’t making use of her rival’s formidable talents, either. That wasn’t much to go on, but it was enough to boost the doll’s flagging confidence.
“You are not a nightmare,” Jenny lied. “You are an Orion girl on pheromone suppressors as dictated by Starfleet regulation 9350, subset 11, paragraph 47. And I am ‘Jenny 8675309, a fully-operational coital surrogate, guaranteed for one hundred fifty years of pleasurable play.’ I have been designed to ‘deliver more satisfaction than an entire skulk of Orion Animal Women infected with Estratetri Pollen.’ You are no match for me.”
Having successfully completed the most aggressive opening gambit she could think of, Jenny placed her hands on her shapely hips, mirroring the infiltrator’s pose.
The Orion’s eyes widened and she began to tremble minutely. Jenny knew from her research that these were signs of an imminent display of distress, usually followed by lachrimation, sometimes accompanied with a keening or convulsive respiration interruptions commonly called “sobbing.” As she had been designed to give delight and gratification, Jenny was loath to cause suffering in another being, even if that being was trying to usurp her place in her master’s life.
The doll stepped forward, ready to offer comfort and perhaps a word or two of advice to the hapless woman. Jenny existed to make people happy, after all. She could afford to be generous in her victory.
When she placed her hand on the Orion’s shaking shoulder, she was surprised to hear the loud burst of air that erupted from the green woman’s throat. While the Orion was convulsively gasping for breath, the sound was nothing like the audio files of sobbing. And, although she appeared to be lachrimating, her green cheeks bulged at the sides of her face, her pink lips tilted up at the corners and Jenny saw flashes of brilliant white teeth every time the woman paused to suck in more air.
“Are you… laughing, Orion Girl?” Jenny wanted know. Suddenly, she did not feel very sympathetic at all.
The Orion continued to shake and gasp, too rude to even compose herself and answer the question. Jenny found that she was beginning to feel a new feeling.
It was not happiness. Or sadness. Or even pity. It was certainly not fear; she had already experienced that and conquered it. Coital substitutes of her design were not supposed to feel negative emotions. (She ignored the voice at the back of her head that said coital substitutes of her design were not supposed to feel anything at all. Ever.) This new emotion, she realized, felt suspiciously like anger.
The Orion was now bent over, her hands on her knees. She continued to laugh.
Jenny learned the difference between anger and rage.
“Do not laugh at me, Orion Girl!” she shrieked. “I am Jenny 8675309-”
She was unprepared for the moment when the Orion woman reared up and wrapped a surprisingly strong green hand around her neck.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the woman said. “You’re a fully operational coital surrogate. I get it. What you don’t get is that you’re not needed here.” She cocked her head towards the master. “Jim Kirk has been getting plenty of pleasure without you. Otherwise you wouldn’t have had to take yourself out of the damned box.”
Jenny wondered how the Orion knew about that, but the woman wasn’t finished speaking.
“Now, we can work this out one of two ways: you can either stop following the captain around like a lovesick puppy or I can reprogram you so that you’re a fully operational shoe shiner guaranteed to lick boots for one hundred fifty years.”
She gave Jenny a tiny shake to emphasize her point. Jenny did not know enough about her own programming, or about why she had reached this new level of sentience, to openly doubt her.
“Which is it going to be, sweetie?” the Orion asked, her inflection gentle, as if she did not notice that she was squeezing Jenny’s throat in an increasingly tight grip.
Jenny was not born yesterday. Her awakening had occurred less than twenty-four standard hours before. But she was no dummy, either. She had been created as a fully operational coital surrogate. She did not intend to become a boot licker.
“I will refrain from behaving like a juvenile canine, Mistress,” she managed to squeeze out.
The Orion let go, then offered Jenny the hand that had so recently been throttling the doll. Jenny dutifully kissed it.
“My name’s Gaila,” she said. “But I kind of like the sound of ‘Mistress.’ And I’m not an animal woman. Got it?”
She smiled a captivating smile, and Jenny realized that her designers might have engaged in a bit of false advertising in claiming that she and her kind were more satisfying than even a single Orion female.
“It would be my pleasure to address you that way, Mistress,” Jenny replied.
“And I might just take you up on that, sweetie,” her mistress told her with a wink.
Then she turned to look at the master. With a start, Jenny realized that she had forgotten that he was still in the room. Only the irrefutable evidence of the Orion’s power to draw all attention onto herself saved the doll from feeling guilty about that.
“Anything else I can do for you, Captain?”
The master answered with a smile that was almost as alluring as the mistress’s. Jenny accepted her defeat gracefully. Clearly, these two were far beyond whatever her designers knew about sexual attraction.
“There are a lot of things you can do for me, Gaila,” the master murmured. “But I have a feeling you might kick my ass if I mention any of them.”
The mistress walked over to the master and wound her long green fingers through his golden hair. She leaned in and pressed full breasts against his muscled chest. With her lips mere centimeters from his, she whispered, “Damn straight.”
Releasing the master, the mistress turned back to Jenny. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you, sweetie,” she said. Then she walked over to the door and left.
“I can see you and the mistress have much to teach me, Master,” Jenny said after the door closed behind her.
__________
We must appeal to the Creator, Spock D. insisted.
Spock lifted an eyebrow. Uhura snorted.
“‘Creator’?” she queried. “You mean Gaila?”
Affirmative, confirmed Spock D.
She’s the only one who can help us, added Nyota D. You and Spock aren’t nearly as adept with a needle and thread as the Creator.
Uhura decided not to take insult at her mini’s observation because she knew it was true. Neither she nor Spock was any good at embroidery. Sure, Spock could hem a pair of uniform briefs or even fix a torn skirt - he had plenty of experience fixing the articles he occasionally ripped off her (very willing) body. And, fair only being fair, she’d learned to do the same for him, since, from time to time, she was just as guilty at being a little too eager to get at the goods.
But delicate work like the Dolls required was beyond their combined skill-set.
Still… “Look, Gaila still doesn’t admit to sewing you guys, herself,” she pointed out. “To this day, she claims to have had you made ‘at great personal expense, mind’ for Spock and me. Not even the thought of gaining a couple of worshiping disciples is likely to get her to come clean.”
We don’t worship her, Ennie, argued an offended Nyota D. Just because we recognize the fact that neither of us would exist without her doesn’t make her into our god or anything!
Spock D was more prosaic in his protest. I believe the prospect of two of her creations perishing due to lack of sustenance will be sufficient inducement for our… Fabricator to admit to her true role in our manufacture.
“I concur,” concurred Spock, and Uhura had to admit the two Vulcans had a point.
Nyota D’s tummy growled at the moment, and she bent over, clutching her midsection. Without even thinking about what she was doing Uhura picked her up and started rocking her plushy counterpart.
“Gods, Ennie,” she murmured. “I hope they’re right.”
They’d better be, said Nyota D.
__________
“Медведь? Tha’ means ‘bear,’ I believe?” Thomasina studied the brown teddy sitting across from where she stood on Montgomery’s bed. “Yer human hadnae much imagination, then?”
Medved bared his teeth in a completely non-threatening way. “He was only three years old when I get him,” he said defensively. “Already his папа and мама had filled his head with nothing but mathematic theory. What was to be expected of such child?”
Thomasina shook her furry head. “Ach, Mr. Bear,” she said. “My Montgomery was much the same with the engineering and the physics. I couldnae ha’ a name like ‘Honey’ or ‘Petal’ or ‘Mrs. Growly’ like other bears my age, could I? Naaaae, he ha’ tae name me after an auld Scots engineer naebody even knows aboot anymore. An’ he didnae even ha’ his mither or his faither to blame for it! He figured out how to obsess over them on his own.”
Medved chuckled at that, slapping a paw against his bare knee. “Pavel thinks Thomas Morton was Russian. Pavel thinks every great contributor to humanity is Russian. I try to teach boy, but..” He shrugged his great shoulders and sighed.
“I still try to tell Monty tha’ there’s more tae life than handsome nacelles and warp core engines. He doesnae listen to me, any more than he did when I could only talk inside his head.”
“It is difficult, nyet?” observed Medved. “Raising humans? The work of плюшевый медведь is never done.”
Slumping down next to him, Thomasina agreed, “Aye, under normal circumstances, we plyushevyĭ medvedi can never retire.”
Medved didn’t miss the conspiratorial twinkle in her honey-gold eyes.
“But now we are under not so ‘normal circumstances,’ da?” he said with a twinkle of his own.
A/N addendum: I apologize if плюшевый медведь is an inaccurate translation for the teddy bears.
As, Aphrodite319 has obliged me to explain, “skulk” is a collective noun for foxes. Since Orion Animal Women could arguably be considered “vixens” in the colloquial sense, I thought the term fitting. Thanks be to her for the ultra-quick beta.
Go to Chapter 6