“You’re telling me…” Lieutenant Kuznetzov said slowly. “There’s… really nothing going on? No conspiracy? Nothing to worry about? It… was all in my head?”

“All in your head,” Counselor Alara Hisarlik replied, placing careful emphasis on those words. “It’s as I’ve told you. I know this may be difficult to accept, but I’ve been investigating thoroughly over the past two weeks. Your fears that the crew of this ship are being manipulated or infiltrated in some way are entirely unfounded.”

“I see,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov muttered. “Thank you.”

She was grateful, wasn’t she? After all, this was what she’d been hoping to hear, wasn’t it? It was the best possible outcome. A few mental health issues aside, there was nothing to worry about. The Inyx wasn’t in danger. She should be relieved.

So why, instead, was Lieutenant Kuznetzov finding it so hard to accept?

Maybe it was how bad things had gotten. More than ever, Lieutenant Kuznetzov was sure something was up. So many members of the crew were behaving strangely - the science officer, the ship’s doctor, even the captain. Every time she entered a room, Kuznetzov was greeted with eerie silences and glassy stares, as if there was some sinister secret that everyone but her was in on.

Paranoia? It was possible, of course. But Lieutenant Kuznetzov would never have made second-in-command if her instincts weren’t worth a damn, and they were telling her that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Alara prompted. “You seem troubled, Lieutenant.”

Or perhaps it was Alara Hisarlik.

She’d changed. Hadn’t she? There was something different about her. Lieutenant Kuznetzov just couldn’t quite seem to put her finger on it. She seemed… what was it? Calmer? Happier? More confident? Yes, all of those. But those were good things. Weren’t they?

So why did Lieutenant Kuznetzov suddenly feel so uneasy around her?

Maybe it was her cabin. Two weeks ago, it had felt warm. Inviting. Since then, the counselor had redecorated, stripping back much of that pleasant decor in favor of a far more spartan vibe. It wasn’t bad, exactly. Just about every cabin on a warship like the Inyx could be called ‘spartan’. But the difference was palpable.

Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was all in Lieutenant Kuznetzov’s head.

“I’m just…” Lieutenant Kuznetzov confessed. “I can’t shake the feeling that… Look, are you sure? Absolutely certain?”

“Certain,” Alara insisted, as she took a sip of her tea. Somehow, her icy calm wasn’t comforting. “Completely. It’s all in your head.”

“I… see.” Lieutenant Kuznetzov found herself unconvinced, and it was clear that she wasn’t going to get any answers here. She made to stand up. “In that case, counselor, I’ll try to put it out of my mind. My apologies for wasting your-“

“No, sit.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov was so surprised, she found herself sinking back down into her seat. Alara Hisarlik wasn’t usually one to give orders - certainly not with that kind of steel in her voice. She sounded more like Captain Vasser than she did her usual, mild-mannered self.

“Excuse me?” the lieutenant said.

“What kind of counselor would I bet if I just let you walk out of here?” Alara tutted. She was smiling - it was meant to be warm, perhaps. Comforting. It didn’t come across that way. “Lieutenant Kuznetzov, I’m deeply concerned for your mental well-being. Paranoid delusions, anxiety, uncertainty… we really must get to the bottom of this.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov flinched. She hadn’t been prepared for such bluntness. “Perhaps you’re right,” she admitted.

Painful though it was to face up to it, her conviction that something was amiss aboard the Inyx was entirely undercut by her lack of evidence. Put another way… yes, she really did sound paranoid. She couldn’t blame the ship’s counselor for being firm when the moment called for it, she decided.

“Of course I am.” Alara laughed. “I’m an expert. Now, please, get comfortable. We may need a little time.”

She reached over to a small, wooden jewelry box that was resting on a nearby table. From within, the counselor produced what Lieutenant Kuzentzov just about recognized from historical photographs as a watch - the old, analog kind, worn in a pocket and attached by a chain. This one was gold, it seemed, with fine Roman numerals around the face, and when she strained her ears, the lieutenant could just about hear it tick.

“Do you know what this is?” Alara asked, touching the watch fondly. Her eyes were fixed on it.

“A family heirloom?” Lieutenant Kuznetzov guessed. From how she handled it, it was clear the pocket watch was of great significance to the counselor.

Alara just laughed, though. “Not at all!” she exclaimed, voice rich with humor. “It’s just a replica. I had the ship’s computer fabricate it for me recently. But it’s based on something I saw in an old movie, while I was growing up. I remember being quite fascinated with it. It really awakened some things in me. Things I hadn’t thought about in years - until very recently, in fact.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov shifted uncomfortably. How was this related to her counseling?

“Anyway.” With a flourish, Alara lifted the watch into the air and dangled it by its chain as she sat back in her chair. “I’d like you to look at this, please.”

“Why?” Lieutenant Kuznetzov asked, although she was already looking. The pocket watch had a way of catching the eye.

“Because I told you to.”

The lieutenant blinked. She couldn’t tell if Alara was joking.

“An external visual focus can often be conducive to the kind of mental state we want you to achieve in therapy,” Alara explained after a moment. “That’s why. But you really must trust me, lieutenant. We won’t get very far if you keep asking ‘why’ like a precocious child. I know what I’m doing. Trust that your welfare is my highest priority.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov felt her choler rise at the reprimand, but she quickly reasoned herself out of anger. Alara had a point. She was the ship’s counselor. It was natural to think that she knew what she was doing, and that she had the lieutenant’s best interests at heart. Alara was probably a little offended she kept questioning her. Maybe Lieutenant Kuznetzov should try being a little more cooperative. After all, if she really was paranoid, she certainly needed Alara’s help.

And if there really was some kind of conspiracy afoot, and if - as her instincts were telling her - Alara was now part of it?

Lieutenant Kuznetzov shook that thought off. It was all in her head.

“You’re right,” she said, after taking a few deep breaths. “My apologies.”

“Thank you.” Alara nodded. “Now, please. The watch. Look closely.”

Obediently, Lieutenant Kuznetzov turned her full attention to the pocket watch. She wasn’t really sure what else she was meant to do besides simply looking. It was nice to look at, she supposed. The watch was pretty, and there was something pleasing about the perfect regularity of the second hand as it moved around the face. It was impressive to think about how, in the pre-electronic age, humanity had been completely dependent on clockwork pieces like this to tell the time with any precision. A fine pocket watch must have held an almost godlike sway over people, simply by counting the minutes and keeping them to schedule.

“Yes, good,” Alara cooed, “keep your eyes focused right in the middle there. Let yourself be aware of the hands moving without looking straight at them.”

It took Lieutenant Kuznetzov a few minutes to slip into that particular mental groove. At first, her attention kept wandering - and with it, her gaze. It was so easy to find herself following the tip of the second hand instead, as it moved in a circle around the watch’s face. But deep breathing helped - it was just like reentry training, she told herself - and so did letting her eyes half-unfocus until the ticking of the pocket watch seemed to be happening in a blur all around her.

“OK,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov said eventually. She felt strange. Sleepy, almost. Maybe she was more exhausted than she realized.

“Good,” Alara repeated. “You’re doing very well, Lieutenant. Think of this as a meditation exercise. We’re doing this so that we can communicate with your subconscious mind. That’s where we can find the source of your trauma.”

Lieutenant Kuztetzov frowned - or at least, she tried to. Her face seemed strangely unresponsive to her emotions. Her trauma? That didn’t sound right. But… why? She wasn’t sure. Her thoughts were slow. It was proving surprisingly easy to slip into a kind of meditative stupor as she stared at Alara’s watch.

“Yes, trauma.” Alara seemed to register the lieutenant’s skepticism.

The older woman started to swing the pocket watch back and forth like a pendulum. At first, Lieutenant Kuznetzov felt faintly annoyed, but she quickly found she could stay focused on it regardless. Her eyes moved back and forth, matching the watch’s rhythm, and she leaned forward a little, eager to bring all her concentration to bear on the object.

“We all have trauma,” Alara explained. Her voice was very slow - or maybe the lieutenant just heard it that way. Everything seemed slow to her now. “Every one of us. It shapes us, even though we may not realize it. We carry it around inside us all the time.” Past the watch, Lieutenant Kuznetzov could just about make out a wide grin dawning on Alara’s face. “Or, as in your case, we wear it on our sleeves.”

What did she mean by that? Lieutenant Kuznetzov found that her skepticism had already sunk into the quicksand of her entranced mind. Now, she was simply eager to understand. Alara’s words had an irresistible power to them. They were compelling, and she could sense that on some level, she was just as focused on them as she was on the watch.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Alara told her. “I’m talking about how you present yourself. About this aesthetic of tough, strong, butch masculinity you insist on presenting.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov’s blood suddenly ran cold. “The… my… what are you…”

What was she talking about? Clearly, it was some kind of reference to Lieutenant Kuznentzov being butch. But what did that have to do with anything? She’d always been a butch lesbian. She was perfectly comfortable with her identity. Her butchness had nothing to do with her present feelings.

Right?

Suddenly, Lieutenant Kuznetzov wasn’t so sure. Her usual reserves of will and confidence were lost in the fog. And Alara seemed very, very certain.

“Don’t you see?” The counselor’s voice was stronger than ever. There was a rich pleasure to it, like she was finally, truly alive, even as Alara sat back in her big, comfortable chair, the perfect picture of calm and assurance. “It’s deeply connected. Your butchness. Your paranoia. They share a root in your psyche.”

"N-no…” Lieutenant Kuznetzov murmured. A murmur was all she could muster. She felt so weak. If only she could look away from the pocket watch… but she couldn’t, she had to keep looking.

Who had told her that again?

It was all so confusing. The lieutenant was losing track. All she could remember was that she needed to keep staring. Then, everything would become clear. Yes. She was sure of that.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Alara insisted. “It’s all going to be OK. All you need to do is listen to me.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov shook her head numbly. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was about to lose something precious to her. “S-stop.”

“We can’t stop,” Alara said patiently, like she was talking to a child. “Not while you’re still so confused. Don’t you see the connection? The way you present yourself is like a barrier between you and your colleagues. It keeps you apart. Alone. And now you’ve concocted this fantasy about a conspiracy in order to reinforce those barriers. You’d be much happier without them, you know.”

“No,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov repeated. She was finding her voice again. With great effort, she was able to rouse herself a little. She needed to put a stop to this. Right now. “That… is not…”

“Come now,” Alara cooed. “It’s trauma. All of it. How else do you explain those forced-feminization fantasies of yours?”

At that, Lieutenant Kuznetzov froze. She was paralyzed. Her resistance evaporated into the ether. The sheer shock robbed her of it.

How did she know? How did she know about that?

“A new… friend of mine was showing me your holodeck files,” Alara tutted. “I’m afraid that’s not a very healthy outlet, lieutenant. Can’t you see it? This twisted little fetish of yours is simply your true self, begging to be set free.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov was too stunned to argue. Too stunned to react. Too stunned to do anything but accept the words Alara was pouring into her hypnotized ear.

“Yes, we really must address this,” Alara mused. Her grin was overwhelmingly sinister, but Lieutenant Kuznetzov was too far gone to see it. She had eyes only for the pocket watch. “We’ll have to go deep. I’m sure you have some repressed memories that can shed light on this. Listen to me, lieutenant. Let me tell you all about it. Let me show you what, exactly, you need to remember.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov slumped forward in dumb, mindless acceptance. She was completely hypnotized. Her mind was an open book - and Alara Hisarlik its author, as she spoke a new, twisted truth that turned the lieutenant’s identity on its head.

***

“For my records,” Alara dictated to her holocorder, “this is week two, session four of my feminine adjustment therapy with Lieutenant Kuznetzov.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov squirmed at the name Alara had chosen to give it.

By now, these sessions had become familiar. As usual, Lieutenant Kuznetzov sat, hunched and uncertain, in Alara’s cabin while the counselor helped her. As ever, Alara was supremely at ease. She sat back in her chair, tall and formidable, teacup in one hand and notepad in the other, and regarded the lieutenant with an unpleasantly piercing gaze.

In truth, the whole experience was unpleasant. But Lieutenant Kuznetzov had no choice but to go through with it. Because…

She frowned. There was a reason, wasn’t there?

Of course there was.

“So, Lieutenant,” Alara began, “how have you been feeling since our last session?”

“I’ve been well.” Lieutenant Kuznetzov immediately flinched at how uncertain she sounded. “I think.”

“You think?” Alara raised an eyebrow. “Tell me about that.”

The counselor sounded so forceful. So imperious. That wasn’t right, was it? Lieutenant Kuznetzov was growing increasingly sure of it. There was something off about Alara Hisarlik. With each session, Lieutenant Kuznetzov was more and more certain.

But… was that simply her paranoia talking?

She wanted to raise the issue with the captain. But her therapy was too important to jeopardize.

“It’s been… a little distracting,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov confessed.

“Ah.” Alara’s smile widened. Became predatory. “Then, you’ve been following the instructions I gave you?”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov nodded curtly, and tried to hide how much she was suddenly blushing.

“Wonderful.” Alara’s voice was slow and gleeful. “Show me.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov sucked in a breath so hard she almost choked. “C-counselor!” she gasped. “That wouldn’t be… I can’t… t-that’s inappropriate!”

As soon as Alara started shaking her head, though, Lieutenant Kuznetzov felt her conviction beginning to wilt.

“Lieutenant,” Alara tutted. Condescension dripped from her words. “Be reasonable. How am I supposed to supervise your therapy if I can’t inspect your progress?”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov shrank back. Her therapy. Right. It was all-important, and Alara was the only one she could trust with it. She knew that, somehow. There was no room to argue.

“V-very well,” the butch woman muttered. “H-here.”

Alara watched her carefully over the rim of her teacup as Lieutenant Kuznetzov rose to her feet. After a long moment of hesitation and with great reluctance, the lieutenant presented herself for inspection. She unbuttoned her smart jacket halfway down its front, and at the same time shucked her uniform pants down beneath her hips.

Doing so made her blush fiercely. It felt obscene. Like she was flashing someone. And the worst part was that now there was something for them to see.

Instead of her usual sports bra and boxers, beneath her uniform, Lieutenant Kuznetzov was wearing bright pink lingerie.

It was an assignment from the counselor. Alara had even picked out the bra and panties for her. They were so humiliatingly eye-catching, especially for a butch. So lacy. So thin. So damn frilly, with those needless little bows and floral embellishments.

It was exactly like what Lieutenant Kuznetzov wore in all her worst fantasies.

“Perfect,” Alara purred. “You look lovely in them, by the way. Very cute.”

A sudden rush of heat turned Lieutenant Kuznetzov’s thoughts to ash and her voice into a girlish squeak. “T-t-thank you.”

She slumped back into the chair and hid her face. Why did she have to find that so hot?

“I suppose you haven’t worn anything like this in… how long?” Alara asked.

“S-since I was a teenager,” Lieutenant Kuznetzov managed.

“Almost exactly as long as you’ve had this fetish,” Alara noted. “Telling, don’t you think?”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov balled her hands into fists and said nothing.

What could she say? Somebody else knowing about her feminization fetish was a nightmare come to life. She’d always tried her hardest to excuse it to herself. To insist that it was nothing - just a harmless little quirk of her psychology; a little bit of unprocessed trauma that came to the fore, sometimes, when she was in a certain mood.

So what if thinking about someone forcing her to dress like a femme got her off harder than anything else? That didn’t mean anything. 

That was what she’d always told herself. In her late teenage years, Lieutenant Kuznetzov had discovered that dressing in an androgynous or even masculine fashion made her feel good. It completely addressed the uneasy feeling she got in her gut whenever she wore a skirt or a dress. Her newfound butchness went hand-in-hand with her realization that she was a lesbian, and as a butch, she’d found a place in the community.

But slowly, over time, her fetish for feminization had grown inside her like a tainted seed. In her mind’s eye, that unease with femininity had been steadily transformed from disdain into a kind of sick thrill, the need for which she couldn’t satiate anywhere else. Trying to clamp down on it completely hadn’t worked, so Lieutenant Kuznetzov had resorted to indulging it little by little, in masturbatory fantasies or holodeck scenarios. Throughout her military career, it had remained her naughty little secret, never to be revealed or disclosed.

The secrecy made it feel even more shameful. But Lieutenant Kuznetzov had achieved a kind of peace with the fact that she was more than just a fetish. What got her off didn’t dictate her identity. It didn’t undermine who she was. It didn’t undermine her butchness. That was what she’d always thought.

Alara had shown her otherwise.

“You see? You’ve learned to eroticize your own femininity, even as you keep it at arm’s length,” Alara explained for her again. “It’s a symptom of your deep longing for a reconciliation with it. We need to demystify it for you, lieutenant.” She tilted her head to one side. “And yet, you’ve been finding this distracting?”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov flinched again. Why did Alara have to look at her like that? Her gaze made it so damn hard to think, and even harder to lie.

“I get…” she confessed in a whisper, “t-turned on.”

“And there it is.” Alara’s vindication was audible. “Well. Clearly, we need to go a little deeper.”

A chain jangled. Lieutenant Kuznetzov looked up. The counselor’s pocket watch was hanging in the air between them.

She let out a low groan. She hated this part. Whenever the watch came out, she seemed to get so confused. It robbed her of the ability to stand up for herself. To assert herself and her identity. Already, she could feel the room around her beginning to swim and spin as her eyes locked onto the center of the pocket watch.

“Please…” Lieutenant Kuznetzov tried to say. “Can’t we… do we really have to…”

“Yes, lieutenant,” Alara scolded. “We do. Focus, now. You know how this works.”

Without really meaning to, Lieutenant Kuznetzov nodded in submission. That response had been conditioned into her now. Obediently, she stared into the watch and let its rhythmic ticking take her away from herself.

“How about your other homework?” Alara asked as she began to swing the pocket watch from side to side. “Did you cut your hair?”

This time, Lieutenant Kuznetzov couldn’t even flinch. It was like all the strength had gone out of her body. “N-no,” she replied distantly.

Every single week, for years now, Lieutenant Kuznetzov had made sure to get her hair trimmed back so that her neat, short side shave remained perfect. But not this week.

She was dreading the moment someone else on the crew noticed.

“Good,” Alara told her soothingly. “Good girl.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov moaned softly. She hated being called that.

Unless she didn’t. Unless the fluttering in her stomach meant something else. Thanks to Alara, she wasn’t sure.

“Let’s go a little deeper,” Alara said, as Lieutenant Kuznetzov started to slip into trance. “A little deeper into your mind. A little deeper into this fetish of yours. We need to get to the root, lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov nodded, the movement barely perceptible. Yes. They needed to get to the root.

“The root of your paranoia,” Alara continued, songlike. “The root of your masculine presentation. It’s the same, lieutenant. But don’t worry. We can fix them both.”

“But…” Lieutenant Kuznetzov managed to say, as something within her stirred. “That’s not… I’m… butch…?”

She was a butch lesbian. That was her identity. That was who she was.

That was what Lieutenant Kuznetzov wanted to say. But her thoughts were sludge, and she could barely muster words. And besides, she was feeling less and less sure of her identity by the day. After all, wasn’t it just something she’d adopted to keep people at arms’ length? Wasn’t that the reason she was currently so worried about the ship and the crew?

Alara had taught her that. Now Lieutenant Kuznetzov didn’t know what to think.

“We’ll see about that,” Alara laughed, brushing past the lieutenant’s feeble resistance like it wasn’t even there. “Don’t worry, lieutenant. Counseling is all about discovering who you really are. That’s all we’re doing here. Sometimes, the truth can be surprising - but that’s why I’m here to help you come to terms with it. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh…”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov’s shoulders slumped. She couldn’t think clearly enough to find any fault with what Alara was telling her.

She had nothing to worry about.

But didn’t she? Wasn’t this all terribly wrong? Once again, the lieutenant found herself wondering: what if Alara was part of the conspiracy she suspected? What if Lieutenant Kuznetzov had accidentally fallen into their clutches? What if this twisted form of therapy was simply part of their plan?

In the end, it didn’t matter. As she stared at the pocket watch, those thoughts vanished little by little - and soon, she was left mindless, thoughtless, and free of doubt.

Perfectly hypnotized.

“Very good,” Alara cooed. Her voice was unmistakably sinister, but Lieutenant Kuznetzov was beyond hearing it. “Now, lieutenant, I think it’s about time we talk about the way you refer to yourself. Always by rank. It’s so stiff, don’t you think? And ‘Semya’ is such a pretty, girly name.”

Lieutenant Kuznetzov had always hated it. But after a few minutes of listening to Alara, she realized that in truth, she felt very differently.

***

“For my records,” Alara recited, “this is week four, session nine of my feminine adjustment therapy with… Semya.”

She said the name with such vicious softness, it made Semya squirm. Why did simply hearing her own name make her so wet?

“So tell me, lieutenant.” Already, Alara was holding her pocket watch, playing with it between her fingers. Even that had Semya transfixed. “How have you been doing lately?”

Semya managed to peel her gaze away from the watch and did her best to glare fiercely at the counselor. She knew, though, that the effect was hopelessly undermined by her long mascara and the dainty, pink lipstick that always seemed to make her lips pouty. Semya knew exactly what she looked like. She’d certainly spent long enough staring at herself in the mirror that morning.

And touching herself.

She couldn’t help it. She was a slave to her fetish. It had taken over her entire life. But at the same time, Semya knew she had a responsibility to the Inyx and its crew. She was certain of it now: there was a conspiracy afoot, and Alara Hisarlik was part of it. She was helping someone take over the ship using some form of mind control, and she needed to be stopped.

Semya was going to stop her. Soon.

She just needed to complete her therapy first. She might not have been able to trust Alara with anything else - but her therapy? She could count on Alara Hisarlik for that.

Semya’s forehead started to throb. She scowled at the pain. That happened a lot. It was like something deep inside her brain was begging her to remember.

But… remember what?

Everything was so foggy these days, but Semya could at least keep a few key details straight in her head. She was investigating Alara Hisarlik and the threat she posed to the ship, but she also needed the duplicitous counselor’s help to deal with her overbearing feminization fetish. She needed this therapy, or else she’d…

What?

Semya wasn’t quite sure. She just knew it was important. Very, very important.

Somehow.

Semya wasn’t sure why her head hurt. It was, admittedly, strange that she needed the help of someone she suspected of working to brainwash the crew. Paradoxical, even. But that was simply the predicament she found herself in. Wasn’t it?

And given the state she was in, it was hard to deny that she needed help.

“Semya?” Alara prompted. Semya realized she’d lapsed into confused silence. “Tell me. How have you been doing?”

“Not well,” Semya growled. It hurt to admit it, especially to Alara, but there was no point in lying. Not in therapy. “I’m always distracted. And…”

“Turned on?” The corners of Alara’s smile turned upwards.

Semya looked down. “Y-yes.”

Little by little, under Alara’s guidance, she’d been reshaping her aesthetic. Her hair was now almost mid-length, she wore make-up every day, and she’d switched to a more feminine cut for her uniform. And, of course, there was the lingerie.

“Better than before?” Alara asked, although she sounded like she already knew the answer. “Or worse?”

Semya grit her teeth. “Worse. Much worse.”

Her new, feminine look put her in a permanent state of arousal that left Semya all but incapable of attending to her duties properly. It was a miracle that Captain Vasser hadn’t noticed. Even now, Semya could feel herself soaking through her lace panties.

“My,” Alara remarked, with cold, sadistic glee plain on her face. “How interesting. Clearly, we need to go even further.”

Semya almost nodded in instinctive agreement before she realized how absurd that sounded.

“But…” she said slowly. Her head got even foggier whenever she considered resisting Alara. “If it’s getting worse then… shouldn’t we… s-stop?”

Alara just laughed at her. “Silly girl!” she replied. Semya moaned. “These conditions often get worse before they get better. We mustn’t stop now. Understand?”

“But…”

Before another word could pass Semya’s lips, the cabin’s dim, cold lights glinted off the gold surface of Alara’s pocket watch as she turned it over between her fingers. At once, Semya was stunned into silence. Her eyes turned glassy and foggy.

She could hear it again. The ticking. It drowned out her very thoughts.

“Understand?” Alara pressed.

Semya nodded dumbly. “Yes, Alara,” she said, because she knew that was what she was supposed to say.

“Good girl.”

Semya moaned again. Being called things like that drove her crazy. There was no quenching her arousal. Touching herself wasn’t even close to enough, but she was desperate to all the same. She began to rub her legs together pathetically.

Alara seized on that at once.

“You see?” the counselor tutted. “You poor girl. You simply can’t control yourself. You can’t possibly go on like this. We need to get to the root of your fetish.”

As she spoke, she lifted her pocket watch and started to slowly, lazily swing it in the air between them. That was all it took to keep Semya’s resistance utterly smothered.

“Yes, Alara,” she said thickly.

“We need to release your femininity,” Alara told her, malice woven through her voice. “To let you embrace it. To let you relish in it.”

Distantly, Semya was aware that that was the last thing she wanted. Hadn’t she always wanted to rid herself of this embarrassing little kink? To keep it hidden? Not to let it run her life.

But somehow, the thought just wouldn’t form.

“Yes, Alara.”

She slumped deeper into her chair. As she stared numbly at the pocket watch, a bubble of drool formed at the corner of her mouth.

“Very good.” Alara’s grin widened still further. She was nothing like her former self. The counselor was utterly transformed by power and confidence, into something completely sinister. “In fact, I think you’re ready for the final step. For your big debut. For your next session, in three days, I’ll book the holodeck for us. I have something very special planned for us.”

“Yes, Alara.”

After a long moment, a faint sense of terror forced its way to the forefront of Semya’s hypnotized mind. However suppressed and misdirected they were, the lieutenant’s instincts weren’t completely gone. Not yet. Eventually, the terror crystallized into a specific concern.

“Alara,” Semya drooled, very slowly, as she stared vacantly into the counselor’s pocket watch. “You’re… you’re not… doing something… to me. Are… are you?”

Alara just smiled. “Of course not,” the older woman said, and kept swinging the pocket watch. “Put it out of your mind, Semya.”

Against her wishes, Semya did. And then, once her mind was completely empty, Alara explained exactly how she was going to destroy Semya’s tough, butch exterior once and for all.