Twenty-One Percent

Maria thrashed as the waves of pleasure kept coming, kept crashing through her. After her first orgasm, she was supercharged, her clitoris oversensitive, her pussy glowing with sensation. After the second orgasm, she had enough, the sensation was too much. She cried out, "Stop! Please, no more!"

After her third orgasm, she resorted to pounding on the side of his metal head with the flat of her hand as hard as she dared, still crying out for Miguel to release her. The ecstasy was unbearable!

Miguel didn't really feel her hitting him, his mind was focused on his task, lost in the pleasure of giving pleasure. He heard it though, heard the clanging sound that the flesh of her palm made when it struck his steel. He relented, releasing her, sliding his finger out of her regretfully. He pulled his mouth away from her, wiping her juices from his face. If he had been at all able to make them, he would have also wiped away tears.

As Maria stretched out on the bed, almost purring like a contented kitten, Miguel returned to the bench and stared at her. His internal chronometer told him that they still had a few minutes left, and he wanted to watch her. So he did.

As he sat there, he remembered some statistics that he had heard, things that he had overheard that he was not meant to hear, bureaucratic chatter between his owners from back when he was a slave. Some Borgs, those that volunteered for this kind of existence, those who had the best sensors and equipment that money could by, they adjusted to this life fairly successfully. Slave-Borgs, though... only 32% end up fully adjusting to their new body. 21% never adjust, becoming suicidal, attempting to kill themselves over, and over, and over again. Sometimes they even succeeded, when they could find something powerful enough to truly harm them.

Miguel understood why that 21% ended up that way. He had always understood, since the first day of his own transformation. He could barely tolerate living in clay when he was a human, and now, as powerful as his body was, he was less than human. He truly didn't know how long he could live like this. He had come here for a test, to see how much pleasure life could still give him, and it was found wanting. This experience was good, but only good. If this was as good as life got, then the best that he would ever have would still pale in comparison to his life as a human.

Still, there was some hope. He had heard of expensive bio-systems designed to more accurately replicate human limbs, human sensations. They were weak limbs, not even as strong as a fit human's body, but they could touch, they could feel what they touched, and who they touched. If he found a way to make enough money... if he robbed the right place, or worked for the right person, he might be able to get enough money to afford a different body. Nothing as good as he lost, but perhaps better than what he had now. Perhaps better enough to be worth it.