Hackers unbound

The next two rooms you search are boring by comparison. But the third at least has a hologram console. The room itself is large and looks to be some sort of fluid filtration system. You enter onto a raised platform overlooking a row of tanks connected by a maze of shifting tubes each painted bright colors to identify their contents. You point to the locked screen on the console. "Yes ma'am," Melodia cheerfully responds and cracks her knuckles, still excited about the promise of an orgasm.

"Quietly," you snap back with a whisper, sweeping the tanks with your shotgun. There could easily be someone hiding in earshot. Upset at disappointing you, Melodia pouts.

Your nude **** huddles over the terminal and gets to work. Bending forward slightly presents her impossibly gorgeous ass. The thin harness she wears does nothing to obscure your vision of that round tush. It's all you can do to not fill the silent room with sounds of booty smacking. And those legs, almost perfectly straight as she bends forward; they look exquisitely feminine in the ballet heels.

Oblivious to your lustings, Melodia makes a few password guesses, but ultimately focuses her attention on the hardware itself. Using a nearby toolbox, she opens a panel and adjusts the internal wiring. "The terminal is in the middle of a repair cycle," she quietly tells you while standing back up. "I can't access any of its data, but if I remember my exploits correctly, I should be able to sneak onto the mainframe." The hologram becomes a wafer-thin text interface, and she adds "it's going to take a little longer."

You keep a vigilant watch while your **** silently works, but your mind starts to wander. It's a little surprising that this is the first sign of damage you've seen on this ship. The thing is part of a blockade on a major hyper-lane after all. Even caught in a gravity scoop, you suspect many ships would go down swinging. If this ship's crew can perform spotless repairs so quickly, their captain must be a real ****-driver. It would probably be best if you don't meet them. "Progress?" you ask Melodia in a hoarse whisper.

"I've set up an admin account, just waiting for the map to download."

"Good girl," you say, patting her on the head. She smiles up at you and you smile back. Melodia is proving to be valuable as more than just a sex ****. You'll be a little sad when you hand her over to The Syndicate.

A few minutes later, you hear the subtle click as the dildo locked inside Melodia re-activates, making her knees buckle slightly. The toy's odd electric whine makes you feel a little uneasy; you thought her denial period was going to last for a few more minutes. Hopefully, you didn't waste too much time getting this map.

As the download finishes, Melodia crumples to her knees with clenched fists. The constant tease and denial must be getting to her. You're not an overly cruel domme; well you are, but you do show some mercy to the good slaves, and Melodia is the best you've ever had. Therefore to ease the slut's torment, you place a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. She flinches towards you and rather impertinently wraps her arms around your leg.

"Please ma'am." A cry escaped her lips as a whimper. "I'm sorry for whatever I did." Her eyes look up at you full of fear. "It hurts so much; I might scream."

You stiffen--the cunt pleaser between her legs isn't supposed to hurt--and snap to action. Your remote is in your hands in the next instant so you can run a diagnostic, but it's not responding to commands and instead showing the image of cum covered blonde in a **** harness captioned with "you're next". Someone has hacked the thing. Damn! You probably invited them in when you scanned for open ports. The remote is on the floor and crushed under your heel before you can say "pissed off dominatrix."

But that's not enough to save the obedient love tart with an industrial strength shock rod stimulating every single pain receptor in her most sensitive area. The part of your brain that isn't in full **** on this problem has to marvel at your subs discipline to silently endure such ****. It isn't much compared to the flogging you gave her strapped to the St. Andrews Cross, but she'd had the luxury of voicing her displeasure (and pleasure) around the large gag in her mouth. That same part of your mind is getting a little worried about her ability to hide emotions from you.

Of course the rest of your mind reminds you this is a moot point and screams at you to get the pain dildo out of her before she gives away your position. "Spread your legs; cunt in the air," you order. She obeys. With a single motion you draw your katana and slice the clasp of her dildo harness. The metal crotch cage falls to the floor. It is immediately followed by the energized dildo slips out of your ****'s sopping snatch, the white barbs of electricity making last final flailing attempts to punish her on the way out.

Apologetically, you straighten Melodia's maid headdress. "That's on me. Some cuck hacked my remote," you explain, pointing to the device fragmented across the floor. "But I don't think they were able to infect anything else before--" The **** moaning and impassioned screaming of a bitch in heat is the next sound to come out of your helmet's speakers at full volume. It isn't actually you (just the hacker still trying to broadcast your position) but is surprisingly close to your voice.

Melodia scrambles to her feet ready to assist you in the new calamity apparently inflicted upon you. When you pop your helmet off, she immediately realizes the situation and opens a side cabinet for you. A panel of wrenches and some maintenance pamphlets tumble out as you cram the squealing device away.

Your hacked helmet is muffled by its imprisonment, making it sound like some horny sex **** is gagged within the desk. Not ideal, but there'll be plenty of time to find a quieter solution. For the moment however, you scanned the room to see if the hacker's shenanigans had alerted anyone. You're just in time to catch the wrinkly, brown face and bulbous eyes of a Gabber peering around a piece of machinery at you. His mohawk of spines flex with panic when you lock eyes; you can't let the little bugger raise the alarm. In the blink of an eye, you fire off a hot blast from your shotgun, but the 3 foot alien manages to disappear behind the chugging metal box.

You dash after him, but he has clambered onto one of the pipes hanging from the ceiling. You are about to melt the squealer and pipe in one shot until you catch the fuel symbol. The goblin is intent on taking you with him if you fire.

The little bitch climbs along the crimson pipe. You sprint after him shooting as close as you dare trying to scare him off. Left, right, left, right, you leave alternate spots of molten metal on either side of the pipe, singing the chittering imp, but he refuses to fall. Worse, he's gaining distance on you.

As he approaches a door, you try a delay tactic. You squeeze the trigger, letting loose a fiery burst of rounds from your shotgun. The door glows red and slams shut.

Squawking out terror in his own language, the Gabber doubles back. He scampers inverted above you, and you try to club him with your shotgun, but miss by an inch. This provokes the imp to cackle with delight as you roar in frustration. The mechanisms around you are loud, but you doubt you can get away with blasting your shotgun like this.

You adjust your plan. With a click, you cycle an alternate shell into your shotgun, and wait for the right moment to launch it. And you get it. Just as the Gabber approaches a surge protector you fire the EMP round. The resulting electrical discharge sends him flying into the fall with a splat like rotten fruit.

In the next second you realize that damaging the ship's electronics might not have been the best plan. The blaring alarm is your first clue. You raise a warning finger to Melodia before she can even think about giving you a look, then bark, "this way, " picking a random direction.