The Melancholy of Fortune Ray (/tg/, F/borg)

Fortune Ray was bored.  As a Syndicate sleeper agent, she was assigned the role of the lone Roboticist on the infamous deathtrap called Space Station 13.  She was hoping this occupation would bring some excitement into her life.  Syndicate agents were typically given tasks to assassinate and destroy all those who oppose their corporation.  This was not the case for Ray.  When the Syndicate finally sent their encrypted mission orders to her on her modified PDA, she found that her only objective was to steal an unused slime extract.
A slime extract.  Why the Syndicated needed one baffled Ray.  She simply walked out of her workshop, went down the Research Division hall, knocked on the door of the Xenobio Research Lab, and asked the eggheads in there if they could spare an extract.  The scientists typically loved breeding slimes to pass the time on the station.  Their stockpile of slime extracts was vast, and they thought of nothing as they threw to Ray one of the more common grey slime extracts before sending her on her way.

Thus, Ray sat down in her lab, biding her time, thumbing the hard exterior of the slime extract in her coat pocket.   All she needed to do now is wait for the crew to find an excuse to evacuate the station.  As a Syndicate agent, there were plenty of ways she could incite such a thing to occur.  The station was currently being run by a skeleton crew with minimal security, so it would be simple to mess with the engine, or go on murder spree.  However, that would require effort, and Fortune Ray, being the lazy, fire-haired girl that she was, much rather preferred fate to shove her along in life.

Just as she was musing her options to get through the day, her workshop door suddenly popped open.  Out of the darkness of the neighboring mecha bay came a familiar humming to Ray's ears. Triskelion, the sole cyborg of the station, rolled into the lab and promptly stopped in front of Ray.  Out of his typical habit, he had chosen the security module to help bolster the station's meager supply of law enforcers.  He didn't seem to have run into much trouble this shift, as his bright-red armor plating was still in pristine condition with not a speck of dried blood in sight.  His glowing blue visor looked up expectantly at Ray.  "I NEED A NEW BATTERY" he stated.  Cyborgs always yearn for the latest advances in battery technology, and Ray was sitting on some new prototypes that the Research and Development department just cooked up.   Switching out batteries for the automaton would be a simple matter for Ray.
Triskelion unlocked his maintenance cover and Ray wordlessly set about to remove his battery.  As she watched him power down, a smile began to slowly form on her face as a fiendish idea popped into mind.  She took a quick glance around to see if anyone was perusing the outside hallway, and then closed the workshop shutters.  She snipped the wires in the security cameras nearby and took out of couple of lights just to make sure no one would witness what she was about to do.  Syndicate agents are allowed to teleport in contraband with their PDAs to assist on their missions.  Since Ray did not require any tools to finish her task, she was still free to order whatever she wished for.  After hastily working her PDA touchscreen, a cryptographic sequencer warped into the palm of her hand.  These devices could be used in a variety of ways to hack and disable various machinery, which is exactly what Ray planned to do with the defenseless cyborg she had in her grasp.  Just a slight tap of the device on the cyborg's mainframe was all that was needed to upload one of the many viruses it held.  His link to the station's AI was severed and the Asimov law set controlling his every move was overwritten.   All that remained now was the order to carry out whatever task Ray commanded him to do, and nothing else.

Ray put the new battery into the proper slot and closed the hatch.  Triskelion shambled upright and stared at her again.  His internal processing silently raged against the new programming installed in his brain. "WHAT DO YOU WISH FOR ME TO DO" he asked.
"Please me" She said, her smile creeping up into a large grin on her face.

"WHAT"

Still seated on her swivel chair, she shifted her legs apart, leaned back, and opened her lab coat.  Roboticists were typically given black, sleek plugsuits to ease the use of piloting mechas, with a zipper that ran from the neck down past the crotch.  She unzipped the suit completely, exposing a vertical streak of sweaty alabaster skin ending with the dark tint of her waxed vulva.  Triskelion craned his visor up and down, appearing confused about the order he was given.  The borg was used to upholding Space Law, detaining those would cause harm to humans.  He never expected to deviate so far away from his standard protocol.

"I DON'T QUITE UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU WANT ME TO DO" He stated.

"Take your stun baton out."

The cyborg complied to that order easily.  Lacking arms, cyborgs have their toolsets fitted into their compact bodies.  A small appendage raised out of his back with the stun baton in tow.

"Place your baton here," Ray said, pointing to her slightly-spread sex, "and insert it slowly."  Triskelion had to comply.  Every circuit in his frame fired frantically to try to stop himself.  It was if he him was the one being violated.   He prayed for a mechanical stroke, a crash,  a malfunction of any kind to halt the order.  No higher being was around to listen to his pleas.

The stun baton was essentially a long, smooth rod, topped off with a mace-like head lined with electrodes.  Triskelion nudged his baton towards the entrance of Ray's sex, unsure if the bulky object would fit inside her.  She began to play with her clit in an effort to excite herself enough for penetration.  Upon first contact, she tensed up slightly from the cold metal surface of baton.  The tip was almost completely flat, with a girth just a little less than that of a soda can.  Ray cursed quietly to herself for not planning this thoroughly.  She should have at least asked the chemist for some space lube and muscle relaxers beforehand.  It was too late for that now, though.

The cyborg slowly applied pressure, while Ray tried her best to relax herself as the wide, blunt end of the baton thoroughly stretched her.  She braced the chair against the edge of her work desk and gritted her teeth.  If she realized how much effort this was going to take, she would have never bothered with all this to begin with.  She felt a bit of pain as Triskelion made progress with the task at hand.  It soon turned to pleasure, however, once she dilated enough for the  head to pass completely into her vagina.  It progressed a little further into her before coming at a rest at her cervix.  Trembling, she eased her position in her chair a bit before giving another order.

"Now, piston the baton back and forth slowly." She said.  "Don't take the baton completely out.  I'll tell you when to pick up the pace."

Silently, Triskelion complied.  Ray was barely wet enough to let the baton more than a bit of length at a time.  She couldn't help but tense up from indulging in such debauchery.  She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander to recall the last man she had her eyes on.  Shoe-Snatchin Willy hadn't been seen on the station for ages, but she could never forget the honking he gave her so long ago.  Just the thought was enough to get her soaked.  "Faster", she demanded.

Soon, the baton was churning away at her twat.  Fluids began to pool on the back of her lab coat, leaving a stain that progressively grew larger.  Ray was enjoying herself immensely, despite knowing full well that her gait would be awkward for the next couple of days.   She bit her lip as she climbed towards her climax. "Shock me", she whispered.

"WHAT"

She yelled out. "SHOCK ME RIGHT NOW YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT"

Normally, a stun baton shock isn't considered harmful. Triskelion wasn't sure what the results would be like if he turned it on inside of someone, however.  Either way, he had to follow the order his master.  With the flick of an internal switch, the baton lit up,  sending countless volts through her body in tandem with the orgasm racking her very soul.  She screamed at the top of her lungs as her azure eyes rolled to the back of her head.  Unable to control herself, her bladder gave out, sending a shaky stream of urine onto Triskelion's anodized steel plating.  Once she completely emptied out, he turned off the baton and retracted it out with an audible plop, hoping she was done with her ordeal.

Ray was limp in her chair.  Her breathing was heavy and her eyes glazed over.  Although her pussy was battered, sore, and gaping, the shocking itself left her relatively unharmed.  She typically fancied herself as more of a sadist, but being on the receiving end of such pain wasn't too bad every once in awhile.  Once she was able to straighten herself up a bit in her chair, she turned her gaze back at the poor cyborg she had soiled so thoroughly.

"DO YOU REQUIRE ANYTHING ELSE", he inquired.

She wasn't quite done with the borg.  She slipped out of her stained lab coat and eased herself onto the grimy floor of her workplace.  On her knees, she turned around, exposing her ass to her servant. "Next, I want you to-"

Suddenly, a station announcement blared through an intercom in the corner. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT" the AI shouted.  From the distance, the sound of wall after wall getting blown apart rung out through the room.  It was rapidly coming closer, until suddenly, the metal plating on one side of the workshop was torn asunder.    Out came an immovable rod, a rarely-seen space phenomenon, hurtling through everything in its wake.  It slammed straight through Ray, the force of the impact rending her into gibs before she could even react.

Triskelion stood there, silent as ever, plastered now in more bodily fluids then he could ever imagine.  A voice seemed to ring out in the core of his brain. "Sorry about all that" it said.  Inexplicably, he felt his original laws creep back into their proper place in his circuits, and his connection with the station AI mended.  His memory was wiped, leaving him confused at the mess that covered him and the room he was in.  Somehow, he didn't seem to mind.

"JANITOR TO ROBOTICS LAB. BRING A FOAM GRENADE."