Relearning Freedom, 11
Another one to not read, ziru
Title: Relearning Freedom, 11
Fandom: TFA
Pairing: surprise
Rating: Very adult
Words: 1525
Includes: sticky, mentions of non-con, the friendly and unfriendly sides of BDSM, mentions of torture, sexual slavery, orgasm control/denial, various other things, mentioned as necessary
Disclaimer: do not own
He would have to hope that his new Master did not expect his spike to react for some time. Optimus wasn't sure that it would. And the last thing he wanted to do was upset his new master. That was a surefire way to end up chained to the wall and punished again. Or however the Magnus intended to punish him now. He had vague memories of some bot on the Magnus's lap, that large servo smacking down, and an embarrassed look on the Magnus's face when he looked up. Had he walked in on that, long ago?
Optimus couldn't remember. His processor was so heavily glitched.
He squirmed unhappily just the slightest bit when the medic poked at his spike housing, as if trying to coax it out. "I need to check you for damage."
Oh, of course the Magnus would want to know what state his newest acquisition was in. Optimus couldn't make his spike extend though, not even for a medical exam, without pressurizing it. He bit his lip, not wanting to admit his failure, but knowing he had to. "You will need to manually examine it."
The medic grabbed a set of his tools, some kind of forceps with soft rubber at the end, which slid into him easily, gently pulling his spike out. It hurt, but Optimus remained silent, not protesting it. He glanced down at his spike, which he had not seen in a long time, and was shocked by how ugly it was now. It didn't look like a normal spike at all, covered in thick, ugly scars where his failing nanites had tried to patch up his wounds. He wondered if the Magnus would put the cap back on him now that he'd seen that Optimus had such a hideous spike, or if he would ask the medic to replace it. Or remove it, the way Tripwire had threatened.
"No sign of infection," the medic gritted out between clenched denta, and then let his spike withdraw back inside him. "That's all we need to see for now. I'm just going to apply a mild cleanser and you can cover yourself." The medic used the forceps to rub a thin cleansing cloth inside him, which made Optimus feel much better. Much more clean. He wanted similar treatment to his valve, but he would not ask for it. "There, you can close up now."
Optimus had no way to close off any of his equipment. Even his spike cover was gone, since it had been replaced with the spikelock. Unable to do as ordered, he kept himself exposed. "I do not have any panels or covers."
The medic hissed and pulled out a temporary panel, which he placed between Optimus's legs. It was a bit too big for him, but the magnet held it in place, even if it felt very strange to have his equipment covered. Then he spent a little more time patching up Optimus's wounds, making sure he wasn't leaking anymore energon. "We need to get him to the hospital for more treatment, but he's stable now."
The pain was back entirely now, his systems having burnt through whatever painkiller they had offered him. His tank rumbled embarrassingly loud, and Optimus ducked his helm. He had no right to request fuel.
"Slag," the Magnus's engine grumbled with distress, or anger, and Optimus braced for a hit. Nothing came, and he onlined his optics to find a cube of fresh energon in front of him. "I didn't even think. You must be starving."
Optimus wanted to kiss his master's servos, and lap the energon from the fuel dish he normally had. He wished he knew where energon came from, but all that mattered was that his master had provided it for him. But he knew better than to take the cube in his servos. Holding a cube, unless he was holding it for his master, was worthy of harsh punishment. Instead, he waited until his master placed the cube on his lap and bent over it, head ducked down to lap the energon up the way a good spikeslut did. He made sure to show off how good he was with his glossa, curling it a bit to get more energon with each dip into the pink fluid.
It warmed his tank, having fuel this good. His master must have made a mistake, giving him such fine energon, when he was used to low-grades usually mixed with drone energon, since that was all he was worth, barely better than a sparkless 'facing drone. He stopped when the cube was half-drained, well aware that gluttony was one of the worst sins for a spikeslut to commit. The only thing he should try to gorge himself on was his master's fluids. Energon was a gift that he didn't deserve. "Thank you," he said softly, lifting his helm to meet the horrified optics of his master and the medics.
Tension ran through him like a jolt of lightning, and he looked at them carefully, trying to discern what he'd done wrong to horrify them so.
"Is that how you . . always fuel?" Ultra Magnus asked, not taking the cube from him. Optimus wondered if he was expected to take more, or if this was a test to see if he was a greedy, gluttonous whore.
"It is. Do you wish for me to fuel another way?" Tripwire often had him fuel from a dish, and sometimes made him lick his own spilled, partially processed energon from the floor and walls. And the energy lashes. That was his least favorite task, pressing his glossa to the energy lash. If Tripwire was relaxed after his punishment, the lash would be set to a less painful, less damaging setting, and his glossa would not be injured too badly.
The Magnus reached over and gently touched his servo. "I want you to fuel however you feel comfortable fueling. You barely drank from this cube. Is your tank damaged as well?"
Optimus ducked his helm reflexively. "I am full. My fuel levels are very good."
He was a good mech. He would obey his new master, and bring his master pleasure. He would not protest anymore. Not even if the bot wants to put a new valve in. He was bad for asking not to earlier.
"You gonna let us take him in now?" Ratchet asked, placing a servo on Optimus's hip. "He needs a lot of work. It's not going to be a short stay in the medical bay for him." Which meant that he was going to have many mods done to his frame. Optimus stared down at his servos. "We can look at his tank at the hospital. It's hard to judge damage out in the field like this. And we need to get the rest of these bots the treatment they need too."
"Yes. We can go now." The Magnus lifted him off the medical berth and into his arms. Optimus curled against his chest, trying to be as appealing as possible to his master. This was the bot who held his spark in his servos now, and if he was not pleased, Optimus would suffer for it. The most important lesson he had learned from Tripwire was that his master's anger could never be controlled, and it was not always Optimus's fault, but it could be managed to some degree. Lessened, if he was a good bot and did the things Tripwire wanted. The Magnus would hopefully follow that same set of unspoken rules.
The medics gathered up the other slaves, though many of them were well enough that they could transform and follow on their own. Optimus could have walked, if his master wanted it, but transformation was out of the question. So he stayed pliant and quiet for his master, determined not to set off the mech's anger. He had a tank full of energon, and his frame was more clean and patched up than it had been in ages, longer than he could remember. He was content for now.
Content enough that the rocking motion of the Magnus's steps lulled him into a light recharge, even though he'd never been able to recharge that way around Tripwire.
--
When Optimus onlined again, he was staring up at a pristine, white ceiling. Some bot had cleaned his frame while he was out, because his armor looked better now, where it wasn't wrapped with compression bandages and mesh. He was alone in the room. Either the Magnus intended him to be special, like Tripwire had, or the Magnus wanted no other slaves for his berth. He hoped it was the latter, though it was a treacherous thought. The other bots deserved better. Maybe even . . freedom.
Optimus shifted a bit on the berth, and looked at his arm. There was a thin tube emerging from under a mesh bandage, and pink fluid filled it. It looked as though they were injecting fuel into him, though the purpose and necessity of the act, when he already had a full tank were a mystery to him. Tripwire had certainly never given him this.
Title: Relearning Freedom, 11
Fandom: TFA
Pairing: surprise
Rating: Very adult
Words: 1525
Includes: sticky, mentions of non-con, the friendly and unfriendly sides of BDSM, mentions of torture, sexual slavery, orgasm control/denial, various other things, mentioned as necessary
Disclaimer: do not own
He would have to hope that his new Master did not expect his spike to react for some time. Optimus wasn't sure that it would. And the last thing he wanted to do was upset his new master. That was a surefire way to end up chained to the wall and punished again. Or however the Magnus intended to punish him now. He had vague memories of some bot on the Magnus's lap, that large servo smacking down, and an embarrassed look on the Magnus's face when he looked up. Had he walked in on that, long ago?
Optimus couldn't remember. His processor was so heavily glitched.
He squirmed unhappily just the slightest bit when the medic poked at his spike housing, as if trying to coax it out. "I need to check you for damage."
Oh, of course the Magnus would want to know what state his newest acquisition was in. Optimus couldn't make his spike extend though, not even for a medical exam, without pressurizing it. He bit his lip, not wanting to admit his failure, but knowing he had to. "You will need to manually examine it."
The medic grabbed a set of his tools, some kind of forceps with soft rubber at the end, which slid into him easily, gently pulling his spike out. It hurt, but Optimus remained silent, not protesting it. He glanced down at his spike, which he had not seen in a long time, and was shocked by how ugly it was now. It didn't look like a normal spike at all, covered in thick, ugly scars where his failing nanites had tried to patch up his wounds. He wondered if the Magnus would put the cap back on him now that he'd seen that Optimus had such a hideous spike, or if he would ask the medic to replace it. Or remove it, the way Tripwire had threatened.
"No sign of infection," the medic gritted out between clenched denta, and then let his spike withdraw back inside him. "That's all we need to see for now. I'm just going to apply a mild cleanser and you can cover yourself." The medic used the forceps to rub a thin cleansing cloth inside him, which made Optimus feel much better. Much more clean. He wanted similar treatment to his valve, but he would not ask for it. "There, you can close up now."
Optimus had no way to close off any of his equipment. Even his spike cover was gone, since it had been replaced with the spikelock. Unable to do as ordered, he kept himself exposed. "I do not have any panels or covers."
The medic hissed and pulled out a temporary panel, which he placed between Optimus's legs. It was a bit too big for him, but the magnet held it in place, even if it felt very strange to have his equipment covered. Then he spent a little more time patching up Optimus's wounds, making sure he wasn't leaking anymore energon. "We need to get him to the hospital for more treatment, but he's stable now."
The pain was back entirely now, his systems having burnt through whatever painkiller they had offered him. His tank rumbled embarrassingly loud, and Optimus ducked his helm. He had no right to request fuel.
"Slag," the Magnus's engine grumbled with distress, or anger, and Optimus braced for a hit. Nothing came, and he onlined his optics to find a cube of fresh energon in front of him. "I didn't even think. You must be starving."
Optimus wanted to kiss his master's servos, and lap the energon from the fuel dish he normally had. He wished he knew where energon came from, but all that mattered was that his master had provided it for him. But he knew better than to take the cube in his servos. Holding a cube, unless he was holding it for his master, was worthy of harsh punishment. Instead, he waited until his master placed the cube on his lap and bent over it, head ducked down to lap the energon up the way a good spikeslut did. He made sure to show off how good he was with his glossa, curling it a bit to get more energon with each dip into the pink fluid.
It warmed his tank, having fuel this good. His master must have made a mistake, giving him such fine energon, when he was used to low-grades usually mixed with drone energon, since that was all he was worth, barely better than a sparkless 'facing drone. He stopped when the cube was half-drained, well aware that gluttony was one of the worst sins for a spikeslut to commit. The only thing he should try to gorge himself on was his master's fluids. Energon was a gift that he didn't deserve. "Thank you," he said softly, lifting his helm to meet the horrified optics of his master and the medics.
Tension ran through him like a jolt of lightning, and he looked at them carefully, trying to discern what he'd done wrong to horrify them so.
"Is that how you . . always fuel?" Ultra Magnus asked, not taking the cube from him. Optimus wondered if he was expected to take more, or if this was a test to see if he was a greedy, gluttonous whore.
"It is. Do you wish for me to fuel another way?" Tripwire often had him fuel from a dish, and sometimes made him lick his own spilled, partially processed energon from the floor and walls. And the energy lashes. That was his least favorite task, pressing his glossa to the energy lash. If Tripwire was relaxed after his punishment, the lash would be set to a less painful, less damaging setting, and his glossa would not be injured too badly.
The Magnus reached over and gently touched his servo. "I want you to fuel however you feel comfortable fueling. You barely drank from this cube. Is your tank damaged as well?"
Optimus ducked his helm reflexively. "I am full. My fuel levels are very good."
He was a good mech. He would obey his new master, and bring his master pleasure. He would not protest anymore. Not even if the bot wants to put a new valve in. He was bad for asking not to earlier.
"You gonna let us take him in now?" Ratchet asked, placing a servo on Optimus's hip. "He needs a lot of work. It's not going to be a short stay in the medical bay for him." Which meant that he was going to have many mods done to his frame. Optimus stared down at his servos. "We can look at his tank at the hospital. It's hard to judge damage out in the field like this. And we need to get the rest of these bots the treatment they need too."
"Yes. We can go now." The Magnus lifted him off the medical berth and into his arms. Optimus curled against his chest, trying to be as appealing as possible to his master. This was the bot who held his spark in his servos now, and if he was not pleased, Optimus would suffer for it. The most important lesson he had learned from Tripwire was that his master's anger could never be controlled, and it was not always Optimus's fault, but it could be managed to some degree. Lessened, if he was a good bot and did the things Tripwire wanted. The Magnus would hopefully follow that same set of unspoken rules.
The medics gathered up the other slaves, though many of them were well enough that they could transform and follow on their own. Optimus could have walked, if his master wanted it, but transformation was out of the question. So he stayed pliant and quiet for his master, determined not to set off the mech's anger. He had a tank full of energon, and his frame was more clean and patched up than it had been in ages, longer than he could remember. He was content for now.
Content enough that the rocking motion of the Magnus's steps lulled him into a light recharge, even though he'd never been able to recharge that way around Tripwire.
--
When Optimus onlined again, he was staring up at a pristine, white ceiling. Some bot had cleaned his frame while he was out, because his armor looked better now, where it wasn't wrapped with compression bandages and mesh. He was alone in the room. Either the Magnus intended him to be special, like Tripwire had, or the Magnus wanted no other slaves for his berth. He hoped it was the latter, though it was a treacherous thought. The other bots deserved better. Maybe even . . freedom.
Optimus shifted a bit on the berth, and looked at his arm. There was a thin tube emerging from under a mesh bandage, and pink fluid filled it. It looked as though they were injecting fuel into him, though the purpose and necessity of the act, when he already had a full tank were a mystery to him. Tripwire had certainly never given him this.