CYBORG PLEASURE; the Space Madame's Warrior

by Cathryn Cade

  Thank God. She crossed the space between them in a step, and then she was astride his lap. Once there, she leaned in and did what she'd craved—put her hands on him. Drawing in a hiss of pleasure at the feel of his heat through the thin knit of his black tee, Ilya stroked her hands down over his shoulders, reveling in the size of the muscles under her palms. .

  He watched her, his pupils flared so wide his eyes were nearly black.

  “You like me to touch you?” she asked, her voice a sultry husk.

  He gave a low rumble of assent, and Ilya grinned at him. “Good. Then let's see how you like this.”

  Leaning in, she put out her tongue and slicked the smear of white chocolate from his warm, whiskery cheek. Then she kissed him on his warm, plush lips. She slipped her tongue between his lips, and cocked her head to deepen the kiss.

  He tasted of warm, healthy male, and moonberries. With just a touch of white chocolate, transferred from her tongue to his. Delicious, and addictive. With nothing and no one to stop her from taking her fill of him.

  Certainly not him—he quivered under her touch like a catamount ready to explode into action and race across the plains, carrying her on his back. Only she didn't want to be on his back, she wanted to be on his cock. Dizzy with sweet anticipation, Ilya shimmied closer, close enough that she was riding the huge shape straining at his fly.

  She moved her hands up to find the hot, smooth skin of his throat, and framed his flaring jaw in her hands as she kissed him more deeply, their tongues tangling, breath mingling.

  Their bodies met, the notch of her sex accepting the jut of his. She rode him in a subtle, straining dance, moaning into his mouth as she felt his shape through the thin layers of their pants.

  Her questing fingers met the hard slickness of his mask, and she flinched away, sliding one hand lower around the back of his neck. Finding the dip of tendon and muscle, and the slight ridge of an old scar at the base of his skull.

  Ilya wanted to slide her arms around his thick neck and hang on, go on kissing him and engaging in this sweet torture indefinitely. It hurt so good, like the first time she and Var had come together, he giving her as much time as she needed to trust him before he took their lovemaking a step further.

  Only this was VX, they weren't making love, and he wasn't waiting because he was gentle. He literally could not go further without her permission. And judging by the way his mighty chest rose and fell with increasing jerkiness against hers, and the perspiration dampening his skin, he was definitely ready for more.

  She let go of him just enough to reach down, find the hem of his tee and slip her fingers underneath. There was heady power in the way he let her tug it upward, then simply raised his heavy arms so she could tug the garment up and over his head and arms. She got it over his head, then lost interest, beguiled by his vast, bare chest.

  Leaning forward, she nuzzled her nose and mouth against one sculpted pectoral, then followed his scent sideways into his underarm, as smooth as the rest of him, and up the tender skin on the underside of his biceps. Hard as living cerametal, but so sensitive he shivered as she kissed him there.

  She needed more of him, more tastes, licks, smells, touches, more, more, more ...

  Leaving him to deal with the shirt still tethering his arms, Ilya flattened her hands on his chest and stroked him, learning the contours of his ribs, and nuzzled her face into the angle of his upraised shoulder. Slid her hands around the wide bulge of his lats, reveling in the way he held so still, a live statue for her delectation.

  His eyes were nearly closed, thick lashes fluttering with each deep breath. And his mouth, wide and plush, damp from her lips, waited for her.

  Ilya gave him a swift, sipping kiss, then tore her own jacket off, tossing it behind her somewhere. Her tank followed, and then her upper torso was bared to rub against his. She moaned with pleasure as their bodies met, heat to heat, silky skin against plush hardness. His chest was the perfect tease for her nipples and the curve of her breasts.

  Beautiful as he was in this submissive pose, she wanted his hands on her. “Get rid of the shirt,” she urged, rubbing herself against him like a mawwr. “Need your hands on me.”

  With one yank, the shirt sailed away, and his mighty arms sank to band her in heat and power. He opened his eyes, glittering behind his lashes. “I may touch you?”

  “Oh, God, yes,” she groaned. “Anywhere—everywhere.”

  With a deep sigh of approval that gusted damp against her temple, he spread his hands on her bare back. His skin was hot and rough, his grip incongruously gentle as he held her ... like muffins, she thought dazedly. He held her as carefully as the muffins Playa had gifted him. He grunted as he pulled her more tightly against his body, and his hips flexed under her, driving the long, hard shape of his cock up against her.

  “I would like to lick your sex,” he told her. “The smell is ... not ee-yoo.”

  Ilya snickered even as her pussy contracted sharply with need. “That's good, glad it's not euww.”

  “It is very good, your smell.” He worked his thick fingertips into the back of her pants, and fingered the crevice of her ass. “Also the feel of you. Soft. I like soft.”

  “I like hard.” She knelt up and kissed him, deep and wet, curling her tongue around the tip of his. “The feel of you.”

  “I may remove your pants?” he asked against her lips.

  “Oh, yeah, you may.”

  Then she hung on to him, reveling in the remembered excitement of a powerful male holding her in one arm while he lifted her legs to one side and pulled her pants and undies off. One of her boots fell to the floor, she kicked off the other, leaving her wearing only the thin, stretchy stockings.

  Then she let out a shriek of shock as VX simply lifted her up high in his arms and set her knees on his shoulders, holding her up with his hands full of her bare ass cheeks as he burrowed his face into the parted vee of her thighs. His tongue swept up the wet, swollen furrow of her labia, then speared inside her, fucking her with slow, luscious strokes. A teasing mimic of coitus that drove her over the edge of one tiny peak, her sex his to command and conquer.

  Ilya held his cerametal clad skull gripped in her hands, crying out wordlessly as he licked up to find her swollen clit, and flicked it with velvet precision until she came again, so hard she saw a nova of stars exploding behind her closed lids.

  “VX, oh my God,” she whimpered as he let her down slowly onto his lap. “Oh, honey, that was so good.”

  She lay against his chest, breathing hard, joy still rippling through her pussy. Reaching down, she fumbled between them for the waistband of his pants. Her questing fingers brushed the swollen head of his cock and he growled, deep in his chest.

  “Mmm, get your pants open,” she mumbled. “Want this inside me. Wanna ride you.”

  He reached between them, yanked his pants open, and his cock slapped her on the belly, long, thick, hard and hot as a brand. Ilya pushed away from him far enough to grasp him, filling her hand with heat and satin skin, swiping her thumb over the slick head.

  Oh, he was gorgeous, long and thick and flushed deep with need, pearly cum leaking from the tip. Next time she'd taste him. Right now, she needed this glorious length and girth inside her pussy, which already quaked with need. She braced her hand on his chest and lifted up onto her knees to position him at her entrance, then slowly sank onto him, rocking to take him slowly inside her.

  He was heat and power and surging lust, all in her grasp. He held himself still with what was clearly a supreme effort, hands quivering on her ass, tendon and sinew standing out in his rigid muscles, his jaw clenched so hard he appeared to be hewn from rock.

  Ilya cupped the side of his jaw in her hands and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, where the scent of her own sex on him sent a thrill of pleasure through her. She moved, letting them both feel how tightly she clasped him, deep inside her. “Honey, move—please. I won't break.”

  With a deep rumble in his chest, like thun
der in the still office, he surged up like a mighty cruiser rising from its tethers. Holding her in his hands, he flexed his lean hips and drew back, then up, igniting nerve endings deep inside her.

  “Oh,” she moaned, bracing her hands on his chest. “Yes ... again.”

  “Again,” he echoed, making the word his own, giving it back to her. “Again.”

  He took over, pistoning up into her with such power and speed that Ilya could only hang on and take what he gave her. His gorgeous, thick cock raked her G-spot with every plunge. It was wondrous. The galaxy narrowed down and down to this room, this male, this cock inside her ... and the delicious tension building inside her like a storm.

  She broke with a wail, her nails digging into his skin, as perfection imploded through her pussy, then outward to suffuse her with pleasure.

  He rumbled again, his head back, hands clamped on her ass in a bruising grip as he fucked her through her orgasm, then went rigid, his hot cum flooding her pussy.

  Ilya sat on his lap, head back, panting. She felt so good, so ... primal. Relaxed, suffused with the relaxation that only great sex can impart.

  She felt like laughing, so she didLifting her head, she leaned in close to the huge male who still impaled her sex, and nipped the angle of his chin. “Thanks, big guy. That was ... amazing.”

  Although not exactly smiling, he looked more relaxed than she'd seen him yet. His eyes were heavy, lips parted. His chest was moving like a bellows, his smooth skin dewed with perspiration, his hard, hollowed cheeks flushed.

  She shifted, and their skin slid together, slick with sweat. Ee-yoo, they were both perspiring pretty hard.

  “Time for a showerdry,” she announced, lifting up and reluctantly letting him slip from her pussy. “C'mon. Mine's plenty big enough for two.”

  “You would like me to assist in cleaning you?” he asked, his gaze falling to her mons as she stood on legs that had that good shakiness.

  She preened under his gaze, enjoying the heat of a man's gaze on her bare body again. “Y'know, I believe I would like you to do that. As long as I get to assist in cleaning you.”

  He rose, towering over her, his cock dangling at half-mast before him. “As you wish.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Grabbing his hand, Ilya led him off to her quarters.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  VX stepped out of the passageway into the usually silent passageway outside the Quarters. Usually it held other cyborgs coming or going, with quiet greetings. This time was different. Two large, menacing forms loomed from the shadows. DR-700 and SN-400 closed in on either side of him.

  Both wore their full masks—not a good sign. The full masks were worn for battle, to intimidate ... and for discipline sessions.

  SN was his height, not as broad, but VX had good reason to know the other cyborg was lethal with both his feet and the battle star. SN's ebony skin gleamed against his red kilt. His gaze met VX's, hard and spiteful.

  DR was taller than VX and as broad of shoulder, although not as deep of chest. The youngest of them, he moved like lightning in the ring, hands and sword flashing. His pale skin contrasted with his heavy, dark green leather suit. His muddy hazel gaze met VX's and he shook his head. The infinitesimal move sent a chill over VX's skin, piercing his warm glow of satiation.

  It was bad, what was coming. His fellow 'borg and the closest thing he had to a friend, was warning him. VX's gut clenched on his half-digested meal.

  VX didn't bother to ask where they were guiding him—he knew. He walked with them along the dimly lit passageway to the yawning elevator. Neither it nor the passageway were like the plush carpeted, clean smelling elevators for guests and top management. This was dank, stinking of the old sweat and dried blood of the hard-fighting males who used it.

  His own body still smelled of her, and of the sweet soap she had used to wash him with her small, clever hands. They'd fucked again in the shower, with her back to him, her pretty little ass thrust out for him to delve between her thighs and find her wet, slick opening.

  It had been even better than the first time, because the edge was off for him, and he could notice more details, like the way she felt in his hands, so satiny and soft, and yet strong. The sounds she made, feminine whimpers of pleasure, husky cries of need. The smell of her skin and her sex, rising damp and hot to his nostrils as he took her. The strong, secret clasp of her pussy around his cock when she orgasmed.

  The elevator led up to the arena, and down to the exercise and locker rooms. Or farther down, to the place the doctor called 'the training room'. Where recalcitrant or lazy cyborgs were 'trained' to do better the next time, to obey all commands immediately, and especially not to attempt to think for themselves.

  The elevator stopped with a groaning thunk, as if the weight of the three huge males in it, along with their intentions, were nearly too much for the machinery to bear. The hatch clanked open. SN gave VX a shove, even though he was already stepping out of the elevator. Trained to balance from his core, VX didn't stumble, but it was a near thing.

  The elevator let them out in a room with brilliant lights trained on one spot. Bright and merciless, the lights showed every detail of the two massive cerametal posts set in the floor, the heavy chain ropes hanging from them, and of the spattered fluids that had been left to dry in layers. The blood, sweat, and other bodily discharges of cyborgs.

  The chain ropes were for intimidation—the flexible twists hanging at the top and bottom of each post were more than capable of holding even a pain-maddened cyborg.

  “So, you have finally deigned to return, VX-900,” said a light, precise voice. A man in a hover-chair glided from the shadows. An Indigon, he wore his black hair combed back from his high brow, his gaze burning deep blue in his thin, pale face. He wore a pristine white lab tunic over gray pants, loose on his wasted lower limbs.

  Dr. Annar Blu was flanked by two more cyborgs, their faces impassive. ZR-300, a craggy-faced impassive wrestler and GU-200, dark-skinned and deceptively stout, until one saw him crush an opponent under his weight.

  “My apologies, Doctor.” VX faced his creator stoically, although his heart-beat had accelerated, and sweat had broken out in his armpits and groin. His body ached to burst into action. But struggling would only make it worse.

  “You were away for five hours,” Dr. Blu said, gliding to a certain spot and turning his chair to face both VX and the posts. “This is not acceptable, you know that.”

  “My com was scrambled,” VX said. “I could not hear—”

  “And do I accept excuses for tech malfunction?” the doctor interrupted him. “Should the vagaries of the female you were whoring yourself with concern me? Did my command to remain at her side place you under her control, instead of mine?”

  His voice remained calm, but his gaze sharpened, his face twitched, his thin hands tightened on the arms of his chair—all signs he was working himself into the cold rage where only pain would assuage him. The pain of the borg who had displeased him.

  “No sir.”

  “Restrain him,” the doctor ordered, his eyes glowing with fervor. “And we will remind VX-900 the consequences of not remaining available for instruction at all times.”

  As if he'd been waiting with relish for this moment, SN gave VX another hard shove between the posts. He and DR fastened the flexible twists around VX's wrists. The twists had a deceptively soft covering, but the moment their captive moved, they tightened painfully.

  Next, SN kicked VX's ankle apart, and they were tethered with the twists.

  “Cut away his clothing,” the doctor ordered. “He won't be needing it.”

  Ever? If they killed him, he'd never get to fuck her again. She was his. The part of him that was man, that wanted to live, to know that primal pleasure again, to claim what was made for him, rose up in him in a tide of heated fury.

  “No!” he roared. Yanking against the restraints, VX gathered every iota of the mighty power that was harnessed in his honed, enhanced body and fought to be free.
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  His muscles bulged, adrenaline flooded his body, and the restraints groaned with tension, the floor shuddering under foot as the posts themselves trembled in their set.

  He saw the other borgs through a red haze, their mouths dropping open, eyes wide with shock.

  “Halt!” the doctor hissed.

  Invisible power slammed into VX's mind, twining in a thick, chill rope around his rage, and slowly, surely strangling it until he bowed under its weight. Until he was still in the restraints, his body and mind held by a force mightier than his will. He gasped for breath, his lungs frozen, back bowing in a sinew-popping rictus.

  Only when he was bent back, arched like a bow, did the doctor release him. He let go with a suddenness that sent VX sagging in the restraints, limp and shaking like a rag. Hanging there, he sucked in air in desperate gulps, sweat pouring into his eyes and dripping off his skin onto the filthy floor. Nausea gripped his full belly, his mouth dry as dust.

  “You have forgotten,” the doctor said, gliding to a stop before VX. “You are my charge, VX-900. It is my duty to see that you remain in control at all times. My control—I am the one who created you, the one who understands you—what you're capable of, and what you need to recall your duties.”

  Air shifted as he glided away. “SN, the whip,” he ordered. “Begin.”

  The heavy whip whistled through the air, and white hot fire lashed VX's bare back. He could not control the involuntary flinch of his body, or his indrawn hiss of breath. He gritted his teeth, and set himself to endure.

  Again, the fiery agony exploded across his back, and again.

  “Stop,” the doctor's icy voice said.

  VX hung in the restraints, panting to draw breath through the pain, to deal. Because there would be more—there always was. The doctor never let them out of this room until they were nearly broken.

  But this time, strangely, the doctor glided to a stop directly before VX, who stared at him through the salt of tears and sweat stinging his eyes. The doctor had the weird glow of glee in his blue eyes that he got when he caused pain to be dealt, but he also looked thoughtful.