Croakers Hate Cyborgs

She already knew my body, despite no prior experience with cyborgs. She edged me. Over and over. So close I got to eruption, yet she stopped me short. New moisture and heat surrounded my captive shaft. She leaned to pressure the semen duct, then drew back. I was gasping, strained and exhausted with my third erection, when she leaned down and whispered, "Who owns you, cyborg?"

"You do, Marisol," I said, and a sob escaped me.

"Never forget that," she said, then rose up again, her beauty majestic and terrifying. With a single flexure of her loins, she made me cum.

Then she rolled down to embrace me, with a sweet kiss.

We declined to discuss how serious we had been in our curious verbal exchange. When I again breathed as I normally do, I asked. "So, what happens next?"

She shrugged. "You go home. Get back to what it is that you do."

I arched an eyebrow at her.

"I already have enough to blow your cover any time I want," she said. "Maybe people won't point at you and yell 'It's a cyborg! Get him!' But who knows, when you least expect it, you might get torn apart by a howling mob. It could happen."

I didn't even ask if she had deadman-switched the data she'd gained on my true nature. Her security surely had all of that worked out.

She rose from the pallet and started to put on her jumpsuit. Looking over her shoulder at me, she said, "I'll be in touch. The car is still parked here. It'll let you out where we got in."

I got up and dressed. My wristband wasn't able to work out my current location. I was dejected, and didn't mind that she knew. She had totally won this time, and I wouldn't get a do-over. Move on, Gordon.

As I waited at the hatch for it to cycle open the vehicle, Marisol said. "Just remember, if you help me cybe, you won't have to croak."

I nodded, resisting the impulse to seek the last word.

***

And so began my time as an extortee. I can't say as it bothered me much. Just the opposite. Marisol had called me adventurous, but not reckless. Thanks to her, I crossed over. In a matter of days, I was in wild excitement every moment, knowing it could be my last.

It turns out I'm even better at reckless than I was at adventurous. What I'd learned, over the years of playing the angles, installed in my brain a deep, rich database. The data guided me to guess right every time, in outrageous schemes of shady finance, dubious marketing, and fact-free promotion. Every time out, I could have gone broke and failed to satisfy Marisol. That amped me, just as much as cashing in. Maybe more.

My first five payments got her most of the way to cybing. She's never told me that, even during our hookups. I have ways of finding out on my own, thanks to the database.

A small, important part of me isn't totally reckless. It stayed calm and focused. It's the part that dealt directly with Marisol. The part that hadn't let her know about some of the things I'm good at.

Just after I made the sixth payment, we had a face-to-face (and body-to-body) meeting at the same pod where she'd taken me before. It was our fourth fuck session since the first one. We'd had great body fun together, beyond what she'd expected. We both wanted each other, entirely aside from our monetary relationship. That was also true this time, but Marisol seemed moodier than usual.

I tried, and I think succeeded, to purge from my voice any teasing, or hint of foreknowledge. I said, "Something wrong?"

She was cowgirling me, maybe not getting much of a thrill. Her expression lightened as she looked right at me. "Just life. Nothing to do with you, babe." Then she purred, swiveling against my groin. She was wet and hot, but after all, she was doing one of the things she's good at.

Now I didn't try to hide anything. I smiled, even as I spewed into her honey pot. For an instant, she looked puzzled, clearly not focused on her body.

After I finished filling her, I said, "Actually, it is something to do with me."

She held still, straddling my gut, eyes slitted. She said, "You better tell me before I tell the world about you." She probably didn't need to touch her wristband to do that.

"You're a good investor," I said. "I pay you, and you salt it away. Your account security is good, but not as good as your physical security. A while ago I found out where you put your money."

Alarm filled her face, anger following close behind. "You fucking—"

I held up a hand. "I never attacked your accounts. You would have been alerted to that. But I have skimmed off a large haul from one of the funds you've trusted. Which is why your standing in that fund just became much less abundant."

She crossed her arms under her breasts. So many new configurations of that intoxicating body and face! Even if she was mad enough to throw me to the wolves, the visual thrills I got from her now rewarded my recklessness. "How does that help you?" she asked. "It just means you'll be working for me longer."

"Maybe," I said. "But my haul was so very much bigger than what you lost. Big enough that I now have a huge stack of real cred, free and clear. If I wanted, I could now retire to a secure estate and get cybed to the point that I could shrug off a direct impact from a drone at full speed."

Her eyebrows rose, and for the first time I saw in Marisol traces of what might be helplessness, and fear. Even more thrills! My prick swelled abruptly, and her expression also took on surprise, and pleasure.

"That's my vehicle out there," I said, pointing at the room's hatch. "Don't bother trying to hack it. Once I leave here, you'll have no hold over me ever again."

Now her face cleared. Her mouth turned up at one corner. She leaned down close to my face. "But you don't want that."

I began pumping into her pussy. "You're right."

This time, her purring seemed genuine. "You were a good fuck the first time," she said, then gasped. "Since then, you've been unbelievable." Her breath put gaps in what she said next. "If I told you I was done taking your money, you'd hate it."

For the next several minutes we fucked without words. We edged each other. My prick was a huge eel, driving deep but flexing unexpectedly, sliding against her inner surfaces, finding her secret sensations, stoking her heat. Once she realized that I didn't want to cum first, it was too late. Her fluids trickled down my shaft, onto my balls.

"You own me, croaker!" I wailed, "And who owns you?"

Her head jerked back. She screamed.

Several breaths and semen spurts later, she said, "You do, Gordon. Until I'm a cyborg. What'll you do then?"

"Fuck if I know," I rasped. We may have both had visions of living on adjoining estates, spending centuries sharing hot cyborg-on-cyborg sex. Maybe good enough, maybe not.

I put both hands on her breasts, squeezed against the rough hard nipples, then brought her sweat to my mouth. "Not knowing is the best part."

"So we'll both keep hustling," she said neutrally. "I could rat on you any time, and you might try to keep me just short of cybing."

I asked, "Can you be that reckless?"

This smile was new. More than amused. Affectionate?

I wasn't prepared. She saw a new expression also. Damn! An eye-twinkle showed me that she knew. She now had me completely. At some level, I now cared more about her than about me.

Happily she answered, "Fuck if I know."

Pay now to exit. Yes, you'll have to pay to get out. There's now a worm in your account, and you have to pay, very very much, to kill it. Disconnecting through brute force won't stop the worm. The longer you wait, the more you'll have to pay.

This was her idea.