Another repost :)

Knock Out had lost count of how many there had been. At first it was just a group of three vehicons, overcharged and feeling brave and stupid. They'd found him in the down-shift while he was trying to snatch some few joors' patchy recharge – he had awoken to to light, nervous touches to his aft, which quickly progressed to rough gropes, pinches, and slaps. He heard laughing through the wall. His face-plates flushed and he tried to kick, which only prompted more laughter. The cowards knew he would never be able to identify them – one drone's voice sounded exactly like another to him, and he couldn't see them, couldn't spy their serial numbers... At the first prying touch to his interface panel Knock Out went cold. They got it off him, of course. Didn't just push it back - removed it. That caused a ripple of snickering laughter, and Knock Out flushed and tried to cringe away from the invasive stares he just knew were aimed at him. He pressed his legs together, but his aft was still sticking out there, and with his panel removed he knew he was right on show. Then those fingers had returned, stroked his dry valve, and started to force their way inside. Knock Out shouted, clenched his thighs closed. One of the drones kicks his feet apart, and two of them held his legs open. The fingers – one, then two – wormed inside his valve and wriggled around. He heard muttering and rich comments, but couldn't make out the words. They played with his valve for a while, fingering him and spreading him, no doubt getting a good close look inside. He bowed his head, shut his optics, and waited for it to be over. Eventually, he felt the blunt tip of one of their spikes start to nudge into his valve.

The first drone was quick. He fucked him hurriedly, no doubt afraid of being caught in the act, with quick, sharp thrusts. He came inside him. The second did the same, while the third must have been jacking his spike while watching the others, because he overloaded too soon and came on Knock Out's freshly-buffed aft instead. He heard sniggering, then footsteps as they walked away. They left him with his panel pulled off and come on his aft and slowly dribbling out his valve. He closed his optics in shame.

The next cycle brought more whispers and comments. He avoided all optics. Every time someone passed through the med-bay behind him, he waited to be touched.

The next real incident didn't happen for several joors. More drones, he guessed. He counted five in a row, and he was sore by the time they were finished. They, too, didn't bother to clean him up. They left him soggy and dripping come, uncomfortable and ashamed.

That down-shift, they brought their friends.

Knock Out awoke from his fitful doze to find himself surrounded by a small crowd of near identical drones, some winged, some grounders, all with optics fixed on him. He heard and sensed more in the room behind him. He swallowed and held himself still.

They didn't speak at first. Perhaps they were afraid of him identifying their vocal patterns. They needn't have worried, he never could.

The nearest to him grasped his helm and tilted his head up. He extended his spike and nudged it against Knock Out's lips. The doctor made an attempt to resist, but it was all for show. In the end he opened his mouth and the spike pushed inside. He didn't try to suck, and the drone didn't seem to expect it. Instead the eradicon simply fucked his throat, held his helm, and rutted as deep as he could before Knock Out had to gag.

On the other side of the wall the drones were getting confident, too. They spent a little time fingering him before the first spike jammed inside. Knock Out winced and earned a slap to the cheek.

"Complaining, whore?" one of the drones said. Knock Out never saw which. "Just stay there and take it. Swallow his spike for him-..."

Knock Out did swallow, and the eradicon overloaded down his throat.

"Wow..." There were general murmurs of surprise, pleasure, and lust – that he had swallowed without further complaint. What the frag else was he supposed to do? A second drone moved in to take the place of the first, and shoved his spike down Knock Out's throat. On the other side of the wall, similarly, the first drone finished and was replaced.

This time the mech came on his face. He pulled out at the last moment and pumped his fist rapidly until transfluid exploded from the tip of his shaft, and Knock Out only just had time to close his optics before his face was covered in thick silver fluid. This earned a round of cheers and laughter. Knock Out's armour prickled in renewed shame and he looked at the floor.

Someone gripped his chin and forced his head up. "Thank him," the drone said.

"W-what?"

"Thank him. That makes your finish look much better, you know."

Knock Out growled. "I will not-"

Another slap turned his head, and he slumped down. Someone was fingering his aft, and he winced in discomfort. He guessed they were using transfluid for lubricant.

"You will, later."

He was fed another spike, and another, and another. Some of them came down his throat, or in his mouth so he could taste the come. Others came on his face, on his chest, over his optics. They gripped his hands and made him jack them and make them hard. One of them, egged on by his laughing peers, turned and rubbed his aft against the doctor's face. Knock Out was commanded to "lick", but refused. A few more spikes, and the second time they tried he obeyed. The drone laughed, and Knock Out found himself tonguing the mech's aft and valve as he rubbed against him.

Meanwhile, his valve was continually fucked, deep and hard, quick and shallow. Slim spikes, thick ones, ridged ones, short, long. At one point he was forced to endure the stinging stretch of a huge, strangely shaped spike – he heard bestial chittering on the other side of the wall, and went cold in horror as claws scratched his armour. An insecticon. After the repulsive bug came – copiously – he was stretched and spread with fingers, nuzzled by drones' mouth-plates. He felt come dripping down his legs. His aft was fingered, then eventually fucked. It hurt, but he numbed his pain receptors until it felt good. It was the only thing to do. He was stretched and abused, stuffed up full. He drank so much transfluid his tank churned with it. He lost count of how many there were. He lost count of how many times he came.

At the end of it, as the night-cycle came to its end, they left him there. They didn't clean him up, and he was left sore and stretched and covered in transfluid. He fell into a heavy recharge, blind and deaf to any who passed him by. He knew that when darkness fell again, they would be back.