by Liz Crowe
The cyborg didn’t move. Instead, he examined her slowly, his gaze resting for endless moments on her breasts and mons.
“Turn around.”
She obeyed him, allowing him to gaze at her ass. He didn’t attempt to touch her and, for that, she was grateful. All he did was look, his perusal as sensual as a caress.
“You aren’t designed like the previous breeding females.”
Her face heated. “I’m not a breeding female. I’m your engineer.”
“So you continue to tell me.” He grunted. “Then clean me from the top of my head downward, little engineer.” She approached him. “You’re too small to reach,” he advised her unnecessarily. “Use the elevation platform.”
That placed her breasts at his eye level. Joan trembled as she massaged his scarred scalp with the cleaning cloth, purifying each strand of hair. It was an intimate act. His long straight locks were decadently soft. His hot breath wafted over her skin.
“Did they give my little engineer breeding drugs?” His tone was mocking. “I smell her arousal.” He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring.
“C models were designed to reproduce.” Joan swiped the cloth over his broad forehead. That skin was also crisscrossed with old scars. How many times had he been experimented on? “Everything about you, from your deepened voice to your enhanced pheromones, was modified to maximize your appeal to females.”
“It appeals to cyborg females.” His lips twisted. “They have no effect on, other than to frighten, human females.”
“And you’re an expert on human females,” she mumbled, dabbing the cloth carefully over the more delicate skin around his brilliant blue eyes. His model number was inked below his right eye. Joan traced the mark with her fingertips.
“I was forced to breed with twenty-two human females, one hundred and fifteen cyborg females, before the program was deemed a failure.” He watched her.
“They forced you to breed with strangers?” Joan stared at him, horrified.
“If you truly served me, you’d show me respect and call me sir.”
He was an obstinate cyborg. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “They forced you to breed with strangers, sir?”
“The breeding didn’t result in offspring.” There was no emotion in his reply. “A cyborg’s nanocybotics views a fertilized egg as a damaged egg and repairs it.”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what to say, what to do to make that right.
He lifted one eyebrow.
“Sir,” she amended.
C899321’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “I’ve survived worse, little engineer. Save your pity for the human females.” He blew over her nipples, knowing damn well what he was doing to her. “They had to breed with a primitive cyborg, tolerate my touch. Even with the breeding drugs, they weren’t as aroused as you are right now.”
She had to get her attraction to him under control. Joan scrubbed harder, rubbing the cleaning cloth over his grooved cheeks, his flattened nose, his full sensual lips. “I’m caring for you because this is my duty, sir.” This reminder was more for herself than for him. “This is what I’ve trained my entire life to do.”
He opened his mouth. She chattered about nonsense, not allowing the cyborg to speak, to use that sexy voice of his against her.
As she told him about the agri lot she grew up on, the solar cycles spent as a ward, the courses she mastered at the Academy, Joan explored the squareness of his jaw, his compact neck, wide shoulders, sculpted biceps, pecs, abs. He had lived longer than many humans and had scars that made her cringe, yet was a prime male specimen, fit, strong, virile.
She progressed downward. “What happened here, sir?” She touched the dozens of lighter nicks of skin over his stomach, having seen similar marks on his face and chest. “These are fresh.” They’d occurred more recently than his scars and had completely healed. “But they’re not battle wounds.”
He didn’t answer.
She gazed upward. His face was hard, his anger returning.
Joan caressed his hips with the cloth. The nearer she moved to his cock, the more concentrated the marks became. She paused when she reached his base. She had cleaned plenty of mock cyborgs at the academy but this was different. This cock was attached to a real male.
“You’re to clean all of me.” C899321 pushed his hips forward, thrusting his shaft toward her. “Must I do your job for you, female?”
“No, sir.” Joan jutted her jaw. “I can do this. It’s like cleaning a female bovine’s teat.” She folded the cloth around him.
“I’m a cyborg, not an animal.”
“We’re all animals, sir.” She stroked him once, twice. His cock was thick and long and had an interesting ridge. As the blood disappeared, she realized that the ridge was another scar. “They experimented on your cock?”
“They removed one of my balls.” His voice deepened even more.
Shit. She cupped his sac, having avoided looking directly at this private part of him. He was right. One ball had been severed.
“What was the point of that?” Her outrage grew. “They could have taken a seminal fluid sample without removing a testicle.”
“They wanted to see if the nanocybotics would repair it.”
“A tiny portion would have shown them that.” She no longer wondered why he was so angry. She wondered why more humans hadn’t died.
Because his torture hadn’t ended with the experiments. His shaft and sac were also striped with nicks. “Did my predecessor make these fresh wounds, sir?” Joan caressed him with the cloth. A bead of pre-cum formed on his tip and she cleaned that too, poking into his slit.
He grunted, not answering her question.
She gazed at his cock. He remained hard. When the bovines weren’t milked regularly, their teats would swell and crack, and the animals would then bellow with agony, the sound twisting her heart.
She didn’t want C899321 to endure more pain.
“I could…ummm…finish you, sir.” She couldn’t look at him while she said this.
“Finish me?”
She waved at his cock. “I could milk you with my hands, release the tension.”
A long nerve-racking pause followed her embarrassing offer.
She peeked up at him. He stared down at her, his eyes sparking with emotion.
“Sir?”
He shook his head, his long hair, now dry, brushing against his broad face. “Finish cleaning me, female. You can milk me like one of your beloved bovines later,” he promised as though that was a treat he was granting her.
“My offer benefited you, not me,” Joan muttered.
She glided the cloth over his thighs, knees, shins, catching the drips on his feet. He then turned and she repeated the process, moving downward, learning the breadth of his shoulders, the small of his back, the indents in his ass cheeks.
He couldn’t watch her and that made it easier to clean between them. The nicks deepened into gouges around his puckered hole.
“He violated you, sir?” That was outside her realm of understanding. Caring for a cyborg was a trusted duty, one half of a partnership. “If you hadn’t already terminated him, I would have.”
“He was one of your kind.” The cyborg didn’t believe her. “You would have joined in or done worse.”
“You don’t know me.” She snapped the cloth, ensuring it had renewed fully, and cleaned his thighs and calves. “I should report him.”
“He’s dead. What purpose would that serve?”
It wouldn’t serve any purpose, other than embarrass the engineer’s family. “You should have justice, sir.” She scrubbed his heels.
He turned, pushing her away from him. “I took my own justice.” He backed into the docking station. His cock remained hard, jutting from his hairless base. “As I’ll take my own justice when you harm me.”
She shivered, his tone telling her he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. “I’d never harm you, sir.” A cleaning bot rolled between her bare feet, sucking up the spilled bl
ood. Would it be her blood it cleaned in the future?
“Kneel before me,” the cyborg ordered.
She obeyed, gazing up at him. His eyes blazed, reflecting lust, triumph, a hint of cruelty. The cyborg enjoyed having her at his mercy.
And she liked following his commands…a little too much.
“Put those agri skills to work and milk me, female.”
“My name is Joan, sir.” If he planned to kill her, he should know that. She ran her hands over him from base to tip and back again. He was soft skin over hard metal, ridged with the scar, smooth at his bloomed cock head, his shaft slick, self-lubricating. “You’re C899321.”
“You’ll call me sir.” He grunted, swaying into her fingers.
“You’re in pain, sir.” This was a kindness, not a sexual favor, she told herself.
Joan skimmed her fingertips over his solitary ball. He quivered, unable to hold back his reaction to her touch.
She’d give him relief and he’d feel grateful to her. Gratitude would lead to trust.
Joan stroked his shaft, formulating a plan.
“That’s it, female. Touch me with those delicate human hands.” He moved faster against her, animalistic noises coming from his throat, raw and fierce. “Show me how you can serve me.”
“I will, sir.” She’d show him and he’d decide to keep her, allow her to live. This hand job could delay her death for a planet rotation or a solar cycle or permanently.
Joan tightened her grip, increasing the friction, and his cock bobbed with appreciation. “You’ll never wish for another engineer.”
“I don’t need an engineer.” The skin on his face pulled tight, his lips flattening. “That’s why I killed the last one.”
No, he killed the engineer because the human hurt him, tortured him. He wasn’t a bad being. She worked him with everything she had, with all the experience she’d gathered over the solar cycles, all the passion in her lonely, neglected heart. Her breasts jiggled with her efforts. Her knees protested their contact with the hard floor.
It wasn’t enough for him. He covered her hands with his, guiding her up and down, up and down his shaft, his ball slapping against her fingers. “Frag.” His voice reached deep inside her. “Frag. Frag.” He sounded desperate. “Make me come, female.”
She slipped one of her hands away from his, folded her fingers over his sac and squeezed. He roared, driving his hips forward, pushing her backward. Cum arced from his tip, splattered on her breasts, and she screamed with ecstasy, her pussy clenching around nothing.
The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, his essence warming, tingling, pinching, a thousand bubbles bursting over her skin. It was too much, too good.
“Need. Relief.” She reached to wipe his cum off her breasts.
“No.” C899321 caught her wrists, preventing her from removing his savage branding. She twisted, writhed, whimpering, trying to free herself, light and sound blurring.
It was several moments before her rational thought returned.
“What was that, sir?” She slumped against his legs, worn out by pleasure.
“My nanocybotics.” He released her wrists. “They’re concentrated in my cum and, to a lesser extent, my saliva. Your skin will absorb them. Until I give you permission to move, stay where you are and don’t touch them.”
Joan gazed up at him, blinking, her mind numb. He wanted to mark her.
It was the primitive action of a primitive male.
And she had no objections.
Chapter Two
Rage looked down at the tiny human female kneeling by his feet. Her eyes were closed, her lush curves pressed against his shins, her breathing level and deep.
Yet her mouth continued to move.
He shook his head. Even sleep didn’t stop her talking, the flow of words bombarding his processors. She muttered about her beloved agri lot, her two female siblings, her mother and father and a collection of oddly named creatures he suspected were bovines.
He’d called her ‘female.’ Her, a human, a member of a species known for cruelty and torture. Logically, he understood why he’d used the cherished endearment.
He hadn’t bred with a female for a human’s lifespan and none of those partners had ever voluntarily touched him. The females had endured the forced experience, not giving him any more than was necessary. They hadn’t gazed up at him, brown fire-lit curls framing a round beautiful face, brown eyes shining with an eagerness to please him. They certainly hadn’t asked to finish him, their voice husky with passion.
Rage had been weak and she must have known that, used his breeding-starved state to her advantage. Her little engineer wasn’t the sweet submissive she pretended to be. She was stronger than most humans, intelligent, judging from the logic dripping from her pink lips, and the most sensual creature he’d ever encountered.
She followed his orders because it served her cruel purposes. There was no doubt in his processors that she intended to hurt him. She worked for the Humanoid Alliance.
He’d broken too many of their rules.
Any disobedience of a human’s commands was viewed as a malfunction, a sign that a cyborg was unstable. Unstable cyborgs couldn’t be controlled. They were deemed dangerous and immediately decommissioned, killed slowly, painfully.
That should have been his fate when he’d lost his temper, broken his restraints, and slain his handler. He had been prepared to die fighting. Instead, he’d been assigned a soft-handed female.
The only reason the Humanoid Alliance would do that would be to inflict more pain on him.
“C345925,” she mumbled, twitching with agitation, her eyes remaining closed.
He didn’t like hearing another cyborg’s model number on her lips, could kill her for that alone.
And he would kill her. The only unknown variable was when. He preferred to wait until repositioning, the planet rotation his fellow cyborgs had chosen to escape.
Until then, he would use her as his primitive design demanded. He’d been manufactured for two functions—to breed and to fight, and she was a fertile female, her big breasts and wide hips inciting his basest instincts. He’d called her female. His gaze rested on the dried cum coating her right nipple. He’d already marked her. In his mind, she was his.
“No other male will touch you.” He nudged her with his foot. “Understand?”
She blinked her long eyelashes, her gaze soft and unfocused. “I understand, sir. You’re my priority.”
“I’m your everything.” Rage unfastened the energy and nourishment tubes from his wrists. “Your life is mine to end when I wish.”
She tilted her chin upward, stubbornness in the line of her jaw. “Yes, sir.”
The female was brave. He had to give her credit for that. “It’s time to dress for deployment.”
She reached for her flight suit.
“No.” He stepped on the stained fabric. “You dress me first.” He enjoyed looking at her body and being unclothed embarrassed her. Humans were prudish about nudity, believed they humiliated the cyborgs by keeping them naked.
Rage didn’t care who saw his bare ass.
He watched his female’s curves jiggle as she hurried to the far wall. She pressed the panel. It opened to reveal his armor and weapons.
“The body armor first, little engineer.” His instructions were unnecessary. She was already been reaching for it. But he liked telling her what to do.
She liked it also, her tantalizing musky scent strengthening. He aroused her. Everything else might be a lie but her physical reaction to him, to his voice, his touch, was real. He didn’t know how to process it, had never had a female desire him.
“You can do this, Joan.” The pep talk the female gave herself entertained Rage. “You’ve carried similar sets.” She huffed and puffed yet managed to convey the heavy armor to him, her cheeks flushing with her efforts.
His female then vigorously rubbed the armor with her palms. He stepped forward, raised his arms and waited
. She continued to chafe the black surface.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“The armor is cold, sir.” She gazed at him. “I’m warming it for you.”
She was warming it for him. Rage stared at her. No other handler had worried about the temperature of his armor.
“Give it to me.” He yanked it from her hands and lifted it over his head. The suit clicked into place, expanded, covering his torso, back, groin, ass. “Arm coverings next.”
She ran to the wall panel, selected them, and rushed back to him, her responsiveness to his orders gratifying. He held out his arms, allowing her to fasten them.
“Did you dress your C345925?” Where did that question come from? He didn’t care about her past.
“No, sir.” She retrieved his leg coverings. “C345925 was in full battle gear when he saved me.” She bent to attach them, sticking her plump ass in the air.
A cyborg saved his little engineer. That was her story, her attempt to win his sympathy. He grunted, watching her skeptically, his eyelids partially lowered.
His female suited him up quickly, efficiently, telling him about her imaginary rescue. She’d been eleven solar cycles when it happened, young for a human female. The cyborg’s orders had been to fight the Mantidae.
That, alone, exposed her lie. A cyborg would never abandon a mission, not unless he wished to be decommissioned. Every action while on deployment was monitored and any deviation was viewed by the humans as a malfunction. Saving her would have meant C345925’s death.
There was a way to hack the monitoring but that had taken Crash four solar cycles to accomplish. Rage doubted her cyborg had his friend’s advanced knowledge.
“Sir, did you… ummm…” The female chewed on her bottom lip. “Ever meet C345925?”
“There were hundreds of thousands of C models,” he said, unable to hold back his sarcastic tone. “We don’t all know each other.” And she would count on that possibility. He couldn’t refute her story.
“Oh.” She was a good little liar, his female, her disappointment appearing genuine. “Should I bring you your weapons now, sir?”
“Never touch a warrior’s weapons.” He strode to the wall panel and filled sheaths with daggers, strapped guns to his back, slung long guns over his shoulders. Any one of these could end his little engineer’s life, yet she fussed over him, straightening straps and brushing off his armor.