"Ah-ah, pets don't speak, or walk upright. Quiet, and crawl to me."

Prowl's mouth opened, then closed again sharply. He was the one who'd first approached Sunstreaker about this. He needed to follow the rules, especially now that his collar was on, even though he felt he could use a little punishment. Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees, keeping optic contact the entire time as a show of defiance. He had to lower them, though, when he finally dropped to his hands; his helm just wouldn't allow him to look that far up from that position.

"Hmm. I think someone's angling for some… discipline," Sunstreaker observed as he walked around his pet. He smirked and pulled the lashes of the whip he held through his free hand.

Prowl shivered at the sound of the leather across the metal of that golden hand. He wanted to beg, to plead with his master until he felt that leather on his own plating. A whine escaped him.

Sunstreaker trailed the leather over the inner padding of a doorwing as he passed it. He outright smiled at the noise it pulled from the SIC… except he wasn't the SIC right now, was he? No, right now he was Sunstreaker's personal pet and would be until playtime was over. Primus, the sounds his pet could and did make whenever he touched him with the whip… they all went straight to his interface equipment.

Prowl nearly squealed when the other doorwing was treated to the same trailing sensation, the lashes leaving little lines of fire where they travelled.

"Please!" he cried out before he could silence his vocaliser. His master paused, likely contemplating how to punish him for that. He burned for the touch of the lash; they'd chosen the leather whip because it was less likely to actually injure one of their kind and Prowl in particular liked the scent and feel of the material.

Sunstreaker had to suppress his automatic response to that quavering cry. He was so ready to take the Datsun, but he needed Prowl to be ready, too, and that meant going through with the scene. Just to be sure, though, he leaned down to the white audial and asked, "What's your colour?"

"Green," Prowl panted.

A quick caress to the red chevron, pulling yet another whine out of him, and Sunstreaker stood straight. He stroked the whip down his pet's back between doorwings to his aft. Plating rattled as Prowl shook in anticipation.

The first hit was bliss. The bite of the leather, the sound of it impacting, was enough to make him gasp. The second was even better; Sunstreaker had angled it differently so it impacted another area on his aft. More blows rained down on him, none hard enough to do any damage other than scuff his paint, over his aft and thighs and lower back. He was so focussed on the feelings that he didn't even register the oncoming overload until it hit. Suddenly his arms gave out on him, leaving his aft in the air, one last blow coming down on him before Sunstreaker was there, petting him, soothing him, crooning to him about how good he was and how well he'd done.

No, he thought as he came down from his high with Sunstreaker wrapped around him. This is bliss.