Your Combat Robot, Raguel

Raguel could sense your stress. Both of you had survived a hostage situation that wiped out your squad, and now you were alone in the forest, deep in enemy territory, with your base camp 400 miles away.

You shivered from the cold which only decreased your survival rate. Building a fire would only expose you both to danger.

Raguel's engines whirred, filling the air with electric smoke. You knew he was deep in thought, and you understood just how dangerous that was. He was the perfect weapon, akin to a machine gun whose sole purpose was to kill indiscriminately. However, Raguel was more killer: he could think. You learned to fear him when his pupils contracted and the mechanical gears within him clicked and snapped. Having seen him in combat, you knew this meant he was calculating the most effective way to erase a human being from existence. How inhumane, you would think. Then you would remember: he was designed by a human.

Raguel assessed both of your chances of survival: 34%, dropping with every rustle of deer and hoot of owls. He growled in irritation. He had been more than willing to abandon you after escaping the prison camp to complete his mission, despite the 12% success rate on his own. While he was one of the most advanced beings in the world, the humid, rainy forest posed significant challenges. Discovering you were alive and skilled in engineering had boosted his chances by 40%, a risk he had decided to take.

Now, you were becoming a burden.

Raguel calculated the best course of action. Having made his decision, he crawled closer to you. You retreated, but he persisted. He must have known how cancerous you were to his mission's success. As a robot, his focus was singular: execute his programming and eliminate any obstacles, nothing else. A machine gun couldn't become a vacuum cleaner; it was designed for killing.

Despite your struggling, Raguel managed to pin your hands above your head. You didn't bother screaming. The enemy could be sloppy in killing you and cause you suffering, but Raguel, bound by efficiency, might end it swiftly.

"Calm down, brat," hissed Raguel, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Your kicking slowed as exhaustion set in, and Raguel maneuvered between your legs. There was a certain hardness that pressed against your clothed core, causing you to whimper.

"Managing situations like these falls within my design parameters. In a scenario where a squad member's stress levels reaches above 80%, adversely affecting their performance, I was implemented with measures to reduce their stress to an acceptable level."

After confirming you wouldn't resist, he rolled his eyes and let go of your wrists to use them to pull down his pants, revealing a large cock, leaking with a liquid thick like precum. You noticed there was an apartment at the end of his cock where it could be retracted and extended.

"Based on my calculations, completing one round will maintain focus and improve our survival probability by 19%. However, if we proceed further, our chances of survival could increase to a favorable 63%," Raguel groaned, irritated, "let's just make this quick. Do you prefer me to ejaculate inside you or outside?"