A/N: I am pretending that Cybertronians have their own form of Tantra and it's called Tantra. Sorry, I wasn't creative enough to dream up a robotic-sounding name for it. =P
Time conversion:
cycle = minute
mega-cycle = hour
Also, if you're curious what Chromia looks like, you can find her on DevArt under the name TheInamorato.
The Shockwave Incident by ToyzInTheAttic
Inamorato would open its doors to the public in two mega cycles. It was hump day of the Cybertronian work week, which normally brought in a decently-sized crowd. Brawn was bouncing this evening and could always be depended on to help clean and prepare the place before opening. He mopped the floor in his typically casual manner while Sunstorm and Ramjet stood at opposite ends of the balcony, meticulously polishing the elegant gold railing. Prowl restocked the bar, quietly humming to himself, and blatantly ignoring the tawdry display twisting and dangling around one of the dance floor's poles.
Chromia was more than pleased with herself as she hung upside down, supported merely by the grip of a single leg. She watched as a gravity-defying Brawn pushed his mop across the dance floor, shaking his head and trying to hide his smirk.
"Please, don't trouble yourself " sneered Brawn. "We'll do all the prepping tonight, you just keep on dancing."
"This is prepping" she retorted firmly. "I'm practicing my routine." The femme curled up and reached for the pole but her leg slipped before her hand could grab hold and she went crashing down, landing clumsily on her neck and shoulders.
Brawn just shook his head and pushed his mop onward while Prowl lightly chuckled. The bartender's laughs were not unheard by the femme and she instantly snapped a glare at him. Prowl's smile dropped as he quickly pretended to be fully occupied with wiping the bar down. His efforts were futile as Chromia was already on a direct course to him, huffing less and less with every step as her playful side arose.
"Laugh it up, barkeep" snapped Chromia. Prowl ignored her as she approached, so she heft herself onto the bar and plant a foot down on his signature towel. Prowl still refused to acknowledge her and attempted to pull his towel from under her foot. She wasn't going to let him off that easy and dropped down, planting her aft on the towel and flinging a leg onto his shoulder.
"Chromia…" protested Prowl, "that is quite enough." He shoved her foot down, forcing her legs closed. He was not the least bit amused. He turned around to attend to the shelf behind him but was pulled back when she yanked his apron strings.
"I'll bet you could teach me a move or two" she gestured to the dance floor. "What with your past—"
"Chromia!" interrupted Prowl angrily. "Why must you—" He cut off when a large golden hand appeared above their heads and snatched Chromia by the neck.
"Leaff him alone!" ordered Strika and she tossed the guilty (only guilty because she was caught) femme over the railing and onto the stairway. The madam loomed over Chromia engulfing the escort with her shadow then pointed a hefty finger toward the private rooms. "Go clean Clazzic Room. I juzt book you client for tonight."
Chromia stood up, rubbing her aft and cursing that now two spots on her chassis ached. "The Classic Room?" She pouted like a juvenile as she headed up the steps. "Who the spark booked that boring ol' room?"
Strika followed the femme up the steps, slowing as she passed Ramjet to inspect his cleaning project. "Shockvaffe did. He zpecifically requezted you and ze Clazzic Room."
Chromia stopped at the Classic Room's door, smiling nostalgically as she watched Strika pass by and head toward the office. "Shockwave, huh?" Chromia mused. "Makes sense…anyone else request me?" she inquired pompously.
Strika opened the office door and glanced back over her armored shoulder at the femme. "No! " She barked apathetically. "Shockvaffe book you entire night. Now go get ready…he be here at open." She disappeared into the office with a slam of the door.
Chromia lingered with a calculating smirk that quickly spread to a dopey gape. "Awww, Longarm misses his Chromia." She leaned forward into the railing and beckoned to the bouncer. "You hear that Brawn? It's our old buddy, Longarm Prime."
Brawn maintained his indifference as he kept mopping. "Guess once wasn't enough for him."
Prowl shook his head and flashed a 'don't encourage her' glance to Brawn.
"I wonder why he booked me the entire night?" Chromia pondered. "He'll no doubt blow his load in the first ten cycles, just like he did in our EG days."
"What's wrong with that?" reasoned Brawn. "If it happens again and he passes out, you'll have the rest of the night to satisfy your urge to defile that pole."
"Oh! Fine point." she replied.
"Remind me to slip some uppers in his drink." muttered Prowl with a sly glance to Brawn.
"You guys wanna hear a story of the interfacing wonder that is Shockwave, er, was Longarm Prime?" she questioned sarcastically.
"Of course I would." added Ramjet, blatantly incencere.
Chromia sneered at him. "It's actually a funny and somewhat tragic story, well worth telling."
Sunstorm slid up to her opposite side, leaning in with pandering. "I would love to hear a story of your past deviation with Megatron's esteemed second-in-command.
Chromia's optics brightened at the seeker's interest. She didn't care that his sincerity was a facade or that he was the only one with any apparent desire to hear her story. The deliciously unprofessional encounter she shared with Longarm Prime during her time as an Elite Guard diplomat was much deserving of a properly juicy retelling, despite its disappointing outcome.
"He wasn't SIC then, that was Starscream." cringed the femme. She leaned into the railing, propping her chin in her palm, face spreading again with a nostalgic grin. "Let's see now… It was after the war, but before Megatron's reemergence on Earth. We had just returned from an interplanetary assembly held on Alpha Nine. Two orbital cycles chalked full of bullshit political foreplay which left us mindlessly exhausted. All we wanted was to break the charade and retreat to our private quarters…but there was the paperwork. Ultra Magnus insisted we complete the paperwork immediately upon return, so there we were…slumped at our work stations in the Intelligence office…processors fried and work ethic jaded.
~begin flashback~
Chromia vented a long, frustrated sigh as she tapped away at the keyboard. "Sir…this sucks. I need a break." She bitterly pushed away from her desk and plodded over to her boss, leaning her exhausted chassis into his desk.
Longarm Prime remained focused on his monitor, unaffected by her proximity and diligently tapping away at the keypad. "The sooner we finish, the sooner we can leave" he said flatly.
She dropped her shoulders with disappointment. "C'mon Longarm, we can do this in the morning. Magnus won't know the difference. I know you're just as burnt as I am."
Longarm was new to his prime position at the time, having just been promoted after climbing impressively quickly up the Elite Guard ladder. He joined the academy after Chromia had already graduated, but rapidly surpassed her in rank, working as her equal in Autobot Intelligence for only short period of time. He was very thorough, very dedicated and very by-the-book, unlike Chromia who tended to slide indifferently over the drudging details…such as paperwork.
Longarm highly respected the femme for her elegant negotiating skills and admired her ability to win over their foreign constituents with only a few words and an endearing grin. He was always glad to have her as back-up during meetings with intergalactic officials. It gave him time to break off from the rituals and report the latest intel back to Megatron. She never questioned his random disappearances, but he could tell she was curious.
This particular night had her in a prodding mood. She was very keen to the front this seemingly flawless bot put up on a daily basis, and decided to take advantage of his exhausted state. She shifted her aft until it found a seat upon his desk then propped her foot on his armrest. "What's your story?" she inquired in a sultry tone.
Her question posed more of a threat than her sexy posturing and caused a halt to his stream of data-entry. He tensed at her possible implications and strained to suppress a rise of internal temperature. It was far too soon for his cover to be blown. This femme was not stupid and would see right through a petty lie, especially considering their close proximity. He knew her well and instantly recognized her actions as seduction; a device used without fail by one very aware of her aesthetics and the effect they had at extracting information. He refused to fall into her trap. His ventilations were now unquestionably raised and he knew she could sense it. He would not be played for a fool, so he concluded that pretending to be played for a fool would be his saving grace.
"What do you mean?" asked Longarm nervously, barely meeting her optics. He reached into his 'I'm an innocent geek' pocket to deliver the next line. "I have no story besides the Elite Guard. This job is my life…you know that."
She tilted her head with skepticism. "I don't believe that. I think you're hiding something…like how you spend your spare time…how you entertain yourself."
Longarm relaxed at the shift of her interrogation, pleased with the diversion she just offered him. "I...occasionally visit…recreational facilities…as a means of relieving tension." He didn't even need to lie.
Her optics brightened with intrigue. "Recreational facilities!?" she chuckled. "You mean pleasure houses don't you?"
The prime coasted along with the act, filling his vocals with a guilty twinge. "Please! You mustn't mention this to anyone! It would destroy my career."
She regarded him with a silly expression. "Your spare time is yours to do whatever you like. Magnus can't control that. You do know what Sentinel and Rodimus do off the clock, right?" She slid her foot of the armrest and into his lap.
"I have heard the rumors" he replied lightly, warming to her touch.
"Then you know Magnus has too and obviously doesn't care" she reasoned. "However…" she wedged her foot in between the armrest and his hip then rolled the chair and its curious occupant until they were directly in front of her."…he would probably highly disapprove of the fraternizing of his officers, especially considering our differences of rank." She slid her body down and straddled his lap, wrapping her arms over his shoulders "And nothing relieves a little tension like blatantly breaking policy." She pressed into him with a deep kiss, her body squirming against his broad chest.
He didn't fight it. He was hiding a world of deceit from the entire Elite Guard. A little interfacing with a lesser-ranking official was small time business in his line of work. This was the perfect cover for her suspicions. He could easily hide behind a sexual attraction to her, especially since the task required very little acting. His hands eagerly found her hips and he squeezed them as he pulled her into him. He moaned as her glossa explored the hollow cavity of his mouth, starting with his dentals then working its way back.
She pulled away from this kiss and stared at him perplexed. "Where the spark is your glossa?"
The question caught him off-guard. He'd forgotten that small piece left out of his Autobot disguise, but he couldn't blame his designer for overlooking the need of such a detail. He quickly fabricated an excuse, caring more in the moment for resuming his lustful devouring of the femme and not of his answer's credibility. "Academy accident. I'll tell you the story another time. It's not my most proud incident." He pulled her back into the kiss, nipping longingly for her glossa and marveling at the feel of the unfamiliar body part.
They twisted and writhed in each other's arms, Chromia grinding her hips into his pelvic plating as his hands explored every curve of her back. She broke the kiss and trailed her lips down his face, searching for the ideal spot on his neck to sink her teeth into. She angled her head in a variety of positions, trying her hardest to access the delicate wiring, but growing frustrated when each approach was hindered by his peculiar mouth piece.
"You are so…thick for an intel bot" she teased. She gave up on his neck and arched up into a kiss again.
Suddenly, the static of his computer's comm screen interrupted their exchange of purrs and moans. Longarm twisted to behold the screen, still locked in a kiss with her. His optics widened at the incoming call and he reactively pushed the femme down to the floor underneath his desk.
Cliffjumper's visage popped onto the screen. "Cliffjumper"…said Longarm, wide-eyed. "What…what do you want?"
Cliffjumper instantly pondered his boss's unprofessional demeanor. "Uhhhh…supposed to tell you to not worry about the paper work, sir. Magnus said you could finish it in the morning."
Chromia, from her strategic position under the desk, saw an opportunity ripe for fun. She slithered her hands up his thighs and triggered the retraction of his interface panel.
Longarm did the robot equivalent of blushing, much to Cliffjumper's curiosity. "Very well, Cliffjumper," stuttered Longarm, "th-thank you for the informa-mation."
Cliffjumper could be an idiot with a lot of matters, but spotting a bot who's been caught mid-'facin came naturally to him. His face twitched with a smirk and his processor raced for a reason to keep his boss on the comm. "Sir, wait…before you go…uh."
Chromia was now thoroughly working the prime's very aroused spike, rhythmically squeezing its base and sliding her mouth up and down the shaft.
Longarm's hand hovered over the 'end call' button as he helplessly released a staggering moan. "What…do…you need?" he strained with embarrassment.
Chromia swirled her glossa around his lubricated tip and glanced teasingly up at him, smile spreading at his obvious discomfort.
Cliffjumper had to end the call before he burst out laughing. "Oh, nothing, sir. Enjoy your evening." His image disappeared from the screen.
Longarm released a sighing moan and dropped his shoulders in relief. He looked disapprovingly down at the femme. "You devious little brat." She giggled in response then climbed back upon his lap, optics pinned mischievously on his. He couldn't help but smile in return, still shuddering from the lingering feeling of her performance on his throbbing spike.
"Do you still have your sense of taste?" she inquired playfully. "Because I gotta a whole lotta you on my lips." His optics only widened in response as she dove into a messy kiss. He moaned into her mouth, rolling his optics back as he felt the mix of fluids. Did he dare tell her how much more heightened his senses were over the typical bot's taste nodes? He decided to leave that alone, fearing how she might abuse it. It took all his focus not to overload by the thought of what she just did to his spike. The pleasure house femmes he frequented were now his biggest waste of his credits ever.
Chromia opened her interface panel then arched her hips up to slide down upon his now aching spike. He broke the kiss with a shocked yelp of ecstasy then tilted his head back, face contorting almost painfully. She leaned back and watched him curiously, her body barely pulsing upon him. His hands lingered motionless on her thighs, his optics avoiding hers. He didn't appear to be enjoying himself. She furrowed her brow with disappointment then popped her optics wide at the sudden rush of fluid inside her.
He dropped his head with a bursting ventilation, reveling in the residual surges jolting through his chassis.
She didn't know what to think, lingering somewhere between insult and amusement. Apparently her needs weren't a priority in his world, but she cracked the inevitable smile anyway. "Huh…that was…quick" she scoffed. Longarm dared to lift a sheepish look at her which she simply shook her head at.
They left the office soon after that, exchanging very few words before splitting off to their private quarters. Longarm could only curse himself for how little effort it took to play the hapless geek.
~end flashback~
Sunstorm sprawled comfortably on one of the main room's oversized cushions, and Chromia lay perpendicular to him, her head resting on his thigh. Even Brawn had gathered to hear the tale and leaned against the wall next to them, face lit with a half-smile. "Heh…Cliffjumper told me about the comm call, but I never knew this aspect of it" chuckled the bouncer.
"Oh dear Primus, Brawn" complained Chromia "the comm call was the highlight of the evening. He didn't even try to get up a second time, either. Simply shoved me off his lap and mumbled an order for me to lock up the room while he scurried out to attend to a 'sudden business matter'."
Prowl emerged from the storage room, carrying a box clanging with bottles and glowering at the femme's last comment. "Have you no respect for a client's confidentiality?" he barked.
Chromia rolled her optics. "No, Prowl" heavy emphasis on his name, "I don't. Not after how he left me that night. I actually had to seek out Sentinel to get my kicks, and since I NEVER typically initiated 'facin with that fragger, he OL'd prematurely too out of stupefied shock."
Strika burst out from the office door and stormed down the stairs to the gathering of slackers. Brawn instantly peeled himself from the wall and searched for some kind of task, while Sunstorm nearly split his face open with an innocent grin. Before Chromia could dream up an excuse, the large golden hand wrapped around her neck again and flung her up to the balcony.
"I tell you to prepare!" scolded Strika. "I do not pay you to yooslezzly exzerzize your wocalizerz." She dropped her glare back down to the lounging jet. "And you!" She reached for Sunstorm's neck but the seeker dodged her with an agile leap and blasted himself up to the balcony. This action further infuriated the madam. "How many timez I tell you do not fly indoorz! You zcorch ze furnishingz!"
Sunstorm leaned over from his safe spot on the balcony. "My sincerest apologies, Madam General Strika" drawled the jet. "Shall I come back down there so you can properly beat me?"
"No!" she snapped. Her perma-frown pinched in irritation as she shooed the jet's pandering away. "Go trim grazz in organic room!"
Prowl's attention peaked to possible defiling of his favorite room. "Madam Strika, please don't allow him in there" pleaded the bartender. "I will attend to it once I am finished setting up here."
Strika's annoyance at the escorts carried over to the ninja and she eyeballed his ragged white apron with disapproval. "Vhere iz your new apron? Arzee buy you new apron, why you not vear it!?"
Prowl attempted to play ignorant as he put away the bottles. "New apron? I was not aware—"
"You avare now!" continued the madam. "I eggzpect to zee it on you tonight." She turned to shift her lecturing to everyone. "Vee open in vun mega-zycle but I vant eweryzing ready to go in half zat time. Ve are entertaining Megatron's right-hand bot tonight, so ve need to make gud imprezzion."
A resounding 'Yes Madam' mumbled from all corners of the room.
***
Shockwave spent the majority of his waking hours ensuring the smooth operations of Megatron's Gladiatorial Arena. His Second-in-Command title was replaced with Senior Events Manager following the Decepticons' settlement in Kaon, but his tasks didn't seem to alter much. He still researched, calculated, organized and reported, all of which he did flawlessly. He would work after hours to double check the work he did on hours. He had no life outside of Megatron's beck-and-call and where that normally would've suited him during wartime, he found himself feeling incomplete and surprisingly bored with the recreational industry.
His processor would often wander back to his time as a double-agent, when most waking moments were laced with tension and ultimately, excitement. Being a Decepticon, he enjoyed the game of deception and prided himself on how good he was at it. There was very little Shockwave didn't pride himself on and only a couple incidences that taunted him with shame. The drunken tank racing incident back on Earth was one of these, but it cowered in comparison to the humiliation he felt from a particular encounter with a past protégé.
That stinging encounter was the motivation behind Shockwave's plans for the evening. The idea of paying to redeem his past failure wasn't ideal, but he was grateful for the opportunity regardless. He stood in his office, his single optic beholding a bottle of scented oil as if it were an alien artifact. He carefully twisted the cap off and lowered his antennae to sample the air above it. The sound of his office's door opening caused him to jerk and splash some oil down his chest. He jolted his attention to the door to witness Megatron entering.
The arena boss pinched his face at the strong aroma now suffocating the room and immediately locked his focus to the small cosmetic. "What's this?" Megatron said, gravelly voice pitched up a notch with curiosity. "Is the devoted Shockwave actually attempting a social life tonight?"
Shockwave was glad he didn't have a standard face because its expression would've screamed guilt like a juvenile caught overloading himself. He took a moment to regain his composure, reminding himself that he's gifted at the art of deception, and accepted the situation at hand as a challenge: a challenge that promised severe punishment if he failed.
"My Lord" spoke Shockwave respectfully. He wanted to ask 'why don't you ever fragging knock?' but went the more respectable route instead. "I am engaging in a business meeting this evening. We are to review the specifications of interfacing, I mean!..A new interface design for the ticketing kiosks." A string of internal cursing bombarded his processor at such a careless slip.
Megatron raised a questioning brow. "This meeting requires you to wear scented oil?"
"We are…meeting at Blaster and Vibe's Night Club which, as you know, requests of its patrons a higher degree of respectability in comparison to the recreational establishments in Kaon.
The former gladiator rolled his optics as he turned away in waning interest. "They are called 'bars', Shockwave." He stopped in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. "The B&V regularly caters to Elite Guard officials. Make sure you do not attract unnecessary attention to yourself."
"Of course, my liege, I will conduct my business with discretion."
***
The red lights of Inamorato's main room danced seductively upon every plush pillow and shimmering curtain. Its sultry glow boasted a seamless chemistry with the purring ambiance of subliminally arousing music, which crept into the corners the light could not reach. Brawn stood firm at the grand double doors, arms proudly crossed across his puffed chest. The escorts were perched in the balcony, leaning into the railing, each one boasting a pose that blatantly exaggerated their dynamic curves. Chromia watched with sheer enjoyment at the drama emerging from the bar.
Prowl stood at his station, arms raised from his sides as Arcee nearly hugged his tiny waist to untie the apron strings of an unacceptably stained apron. His face screamed of impatience at the reality of being undressed like a doll. Arcee pulled the apron off him, cringing at its sorry state before tossing it behind her, then grabbed from the bar stool next to her, a sheen crimson cloth of a similar size and shape. Prowl glowered at the sight of it.
"What is wrong with my current apron?" he whined. "It is quite functional and washes much better than this, satin material does."
"Satin is sexy, love." She held the apron up between her and Prowl, looking upon it with approval before diving her arms back around the bartender's trim waist. "Just like you. And I cannot allow one of Inamorato's finest pieces of optic candy to hide his adorable curves under a rag." She yanked the ties into their first knot then tugged at Prowl's hips, forcing him into a half-turn so she could get at his back side. She tied a bow and began obsessively arranging it so it didn't obstruct the view of his perfect little aft.
A tall purple mech, bearing an elegantly sinister design, appeared in the doorway. Inamorato's first and most anticipated customer of the night had arrived. He entered the main room apprehensively, flashing a paranoid glance down at Brawn, who cringed at the overpowering waft of cologne. The gaze of his single red optic scanned the room and then crept up the stairs to meet the Cheshire Cat grin of his former protégé. Chromia immediately left her post and glided down the stairs. The shimmering translucent fabric draped over her wings trailed behind her, its blue color reflecting purple when hit with red light.
Shockwave straightened his posture and slowly approached the base of the stairs, feeling his joints slightly weaken at the femme's unexpected grace. He should've predicted it would be short-lived. Chromia took note of his ideal positioning and hopped upon the railing to slide down the remainder of the stairs and land squarely in his reactive claws.
"Evening Shockwave", giggled the femme as she caressed his purple insignia.
"Good evening Chromia. Your aesthetics are quite satisfac—quite stunning."
She slid out of his arms a grabbed his talons, guiding him up the stairs. "Thank you, sir. Your cologne is…it's really…" she stopped after a couple steps. "Would you like to get a drink first?"
"I will purchase a beverage for you if you wish." He replied dryly.
Chromia watched Arcee continue to fuss with Prowl's apron strings and decided she'd rather not rescue the bartender from such adorable torture. With a sly smile, she turned back to Shockwave. "I'll pass, thank you."
Sunstorm watched the pair emerge onto the balcony and decided tact wasn't something he felt like practicing at the moment. "Shockwave. Might I say what a pleasure it is to be reunited with such a loyal colleague. Be sure to thank Megatron on my behalf for leaving Ramjet and myself behind in during your breakout. Had we escaped with you, we would never have had the fortune of gaining employment in such a-
Arcee's optics brightened hotly, her voice blasting directly toward the brazen seeker. "Politics at the door mister!" Prowl flinched at the raging voice's close proximity to his audio receptors. Sunstorm cowered at bit, and then backed off to let Shockwave and Chromia enter their room in peace. Arcee relaxed and turned to Prowl apologetically. "Sorry, love."
"Why red?" Prowl sighed over his shoulder. Arcee guided his hips to turn him back around.
"Red is the universal color of lust, dear Prowl." she said in her school teacher tone. She snatched his towel off the bar and scrubbed a smudge off his insignia. "You should wear it with pride. It is the color of your faction."
"It is your faction too" Prowl retorted "and what happened to 'leaving politics at the door'?" He arrogantly turned to finally resume setting up his station, but yelped pathetically when Arcee snapped his aft with his signature towel.
"Watch yourself, cheeky!" warned Arcee as she flung his towel a him. "You pull that attitude around Strika and you won't have a nose to stick in the air anymore." The candy-striped madam adjusted her fishnet gloves as she pinned Prowl with a stern look. He bowed his head with an angry pout as she strolled off authoritatively.
***
Chromia sat innocently with Shockwave on the edge of the burgundy canopied bed of the Classic Room. Only a couple cycles had passed since they entered the room. They had inevitably fallen into small talk as that seemed the most logical approach to take, given the unique history they had together.
Chromia curled one leg under her body as she leaned in closer to the mech. "I knew something was off about you, but I never suspected you to be a 'con. Hell, if I knew that, I woulda jumped your chassis at every opportunity." Chromia was never fond of small talk, especially when a dancer's pole was calling her name.
Shockwave's optic gleamed with what must have been a blush. "You were quite convincing as well. I never suspected your disloyalty to the Autobots."
She scooted closer to him, placing her hands on his knees, and lifting an optic ridge to him. "This small talk doing anything for ya?"
"Not really, no." He shifted his attention around the room, soaking in the reserved and rustic décor. "Are you pleased with the surroundings I have chosen for us?"
"Uhh…you picked this room for me?" She glanced around unimpressed.
"Yes, I assumed it would be your favorite. The others listed in the brochure lack sophistication."
"In case you hadn't noticed, hun, so I do." She slid her hands up his thighs and dropped down to her knees on the floor. "But I'm flattered you thought so highly of me." Just like before, a simple strategic pressure to his inner thighs and away went his interface panel. She was instantly put off by his only partially aroused spike, especially since it appeared to be the same spike as Longarm's. Everything else about this 'con was longer now, why not is fraggin' spike?
Shockwave casually leaned back onto his shoulders and vented a long sigh as she started stroking him. She threw a few frustrated licks in to compensate for his lack of lubrication. "Are those chains wrapped around the canopy frame?" He pondered, strangely relaxed.
"Yes" she replied dryly. "All rooms are equipped with bondage gear." She started intently massaging the base of his spike with one hand and slid a couple fingers into his annoyingly dry valve. Her mouth closed down around the indifferent spike and she unleashed the fury of her glossa upon it, convinced that her prized technique could make even the most non-sentient calculator instantaneously evolve an erect spike.
After a couple cycles and a thorough exhausting of her glossa, his spike finally reached an erection comparable to Longarm's. She bitterly wiped her mouth and climbed upon his lap, straddling his hips with her knees and lowering her valve over the hard-earned length. This should get him, she thought, just like last time. She relaxed her tension at feeling him inside her, and began lightly thrusting her hips, swaying to the thrumming bassline bleeding in from the main room. She knew she would be back on the dance floor soon enough this evening, but was going to make damn sure she got some satisfaction from him this time. She rolled her head back and softly moaned, her chassis warming more and more with each thrust.
Shockwave watched her curiously, enjoying the sight of her arching body as her hands slid up her thighs, stomach, chest and neck. "You are enjoying this." He mused.
Her optics fluttered on. "Yes, I am" she replied breathily. "Aren't you?" she sincerely wondered.
"With certainty." He replied casually.
She furrowed her brow, her voice heavy with arousal. "Coulda…fooled me."
"Our first encounter is not to be repeated", stated Shockwave, blatantly. "I have learned some…self control since then. I can also take advantage of ALL my retractable appendages now that my identity is not an issue."
She beheld him wide-eyed. "You mean—OOOHHhhh!" She violently arched, hollering with a painful ecstasy as the length inside her extended and ignited every unsuspecting node in her valve. Her walls contracted, massaging the improbable spike against her will and coating it with a flood of her transfluid. Her helplessness invoked another level of arousal from the lanky purple 'con and he sat up to wrap his talons around her frame. He slowly lifted her, her wetness dripping down his spike, then dropped her back down, thrilled by her resulting lustful grunt. He repeated this, her vocalizations growing louder with each drop.
She was dumbfounded. How was this possible? Did his Autobot disguise suppress the sexual beast that is apparently Shockwave? She found a window between her uncontrolled moans to confront him on this.
"What's…your story?" she growled undignified.
If Shockwave could smile pompously, he would be at the moment. "I have experimented in meditative techniques."
"Oh Primus" she rolled her optics "Not another Circuit-su junkie." This made her think of Prowl, which was not ideal. Her chassis locked up, every sensory node suddenly engorged. The feel of Shockwave's unbelievable spike coupled with the image of the ninja in that damned satin apron would surely bring on her overload. Not yet, she thought, wait until he's ready. She wiped Prowl from her processor and gazed intently into the single red optic. She couldn't fathom his size. It didn't make sense. She assumed no mech, outside of Megatron, could ever achieve that length. Her chassis locked again. Shockwave arched his hips, thrusting deeper into her. Bad time to think about Megatron, she thought regretfully. She arched and threw her head back; overload penetrating every circuit, her vocals erupting, transfluid seeping down to Shockwave's pelvic plating.
She collapsed onto his chest, heavily ventilating, practically drooling on his insignia. "Oh my fucking Primus." She moaned at the feel of his talons gently running up and down her back.
"Did that feel good?" he purred, which she thought was rather odd because Shockwave wasn't known for purring. She must have somehow pulled a hefty overload from him to invoke a purr, and considering that she was completely wrapped up in her own pleasure rather than his, she was very impressed with herself, despite her uncharacteristic exhaustion after only one overload. She suddenly decided to believe in Primus so she could thank him for allowing Shockwave to book her for the entire night. Drifting into recharge and dreaming of her amazing and effortless sexual mastery and how she could use it on Megatron was now the only thing on her mind. She was still on the clock however, and should probably inquire to her client's needs before indulging her subconscious narcissism.
"How are you feeling, tall, long and…long?" she asked with minimal sincerity.
"I feel ready" replied Shockwave with an inappropriately perky voice. "Ready to put my tantric disciplines into practice."
She heard him but only half-comprehended. "Say what?" she mumbled into his chest. She felt his spike still throbbing inside her, no shrinkage at all, in fact, it felt bigger. "Tantric" the pieces started falling into place. "Wait a minute. Wait just an All-Sparked min—ACK!!" She suddenly found herself face down on the bed, her face half-buried in a pillow, her hands splayed out as the talons that just moments ago, tenderly caressed her chassis, now forcefully pinned her wrists. The massive length pushed back into her and she screamed in response.
"Did I hurt you?" he inquired, voice devoid of intonation.
"Yes!" she barked, voice muffled by the pillow.
"Would you like me to be gentle?" he continued.
She chewed on the thought. Gentle would probably put her into recharge. She did not want to recharge anymore, not while the pit froze over and Shockwave assumed the role of Interfacing Champion.
"No!" she grunted.
"Good" he purred…again.
The next few cycles felt like an eternity as the imposter wearing Shockwave's chassis forcefully thrust in and out of her, breaking the pattern with a random slap to her aft and gripping of her hips. She didn't hear her own screams anymore. She was not really sure why she bothered screaming but safely assumed that if she didn't, the sensory overload would make her processor explode.
The thrusting stopped. She seized the opportunity to catch her ventilations, but was quickly pulled onto the mech's lap, her back flush to his stomach, his beastly spike still buried in her. One set of talons slithered around her hip down her upper thigh and into the folds of her exposed cables. He uncovered her hidden node and toyed with it, squeezing it each time he pushed deeper inside her raw and aching valve. She could've melted. She leaned back into him to prevent slumping forward like a rag doll. Her head tilted back and she hazily looked into his single optic, which had strangely multiplied and its two blurry offspring were dancing around blissfully. His other claw scraped up her side, splaying across her chest and wrapping around her neck. He snaked a talon over her chin and into her mouth, causing her to moan weakly. It was all she could do. If someone could show her a bot with any strength left in their chassis after overloading on a spike like Shockwave's, she'd abandon everything she's ever known and start a new religion based solely on that bot's sheer improbability.
The next few mega-cycles passed and she miraculously stayed online. She had lost count of the positions, her valve had gone completely numb, and every prop in the room from furniture to bondage gear was utilized, quite creatively too; sometimes mixed and matched. She would've taken notes if she could manage the coordination of writing. She vaguely remembers dangling upside down from the bed canopy at one point. There was also a faint memory of being pinned to the ceiling by his extended arms. She wasn't really sure what the point of that was.
Another couple mega-cycles had passed. She now lay comfortably and normally on her back upon the disheveled bed, arms splayed from her sides, fingers clawing at the bared mattress. The only reason she wasn't in recharge was because her overtaxed and aching node was being held prisoner between her client's electrified antennae. He was sadistically enjoying her predictably unattractive convulsing. At this point, however, she really didn't give a scrap about appearances.
She was about slip into a trance, at least that's the best term she could think to describe it, when a familiar transforming sound aroused her attention. She restored some focus in her optics and brightened at the sight of Longarm Prime with a purple paint job. She managed a half-smile and chuckle as his face slithered up her chassis, stopping twice to kiss her stomach and neck then hovering innocently over her face. The innocence was short-lived as a Shockwave-sized spike thrust back into her, and Longarm's mouth pressed into hers.
He moved gently inside her, reading her expressions so as not to hurt her and brushing her cheek with his bulky, but soft fingers. He tenderly kissed each of her facial features then locked firmly back onto her lips. She sighed into his mouth, dreamily, sincerely, girly; something she never did and was specifically reserving it for her first interfacing with Megatron.
His lips pinched around hers and she felt his chassis shudder then release a rush of warm liquid inside her. She was surprised she still had enough sensation to feel his overload, but she did and it felt nice. He gently pulled out of her and slid to the side of her chassis, heavy arm draped possessively across her chest. She expected him to drift into recharge with her and was surprised when he planted one final kiss on her lips then rose from the bed.
He looked down at her with a proud smile. "You now have a new memory of the interfacing I am capable of."
She looked at him confused. "Who...you or Shockwave?" she muttered weakly.
He transformed back into Shockwave. "Both" he replied with his classic flatness then turned and left the room with a cold, satisfied air.
"Hey" she rasped in protest "I never agreed to a threesome." He didn't hear her. He was already gone. Shame… she liked her joke. She tried to file it away for a later retelling to the seekers, but conked out into recharge before it could properly form into a coherent memory.
***
The following dawn was a typical weekday morning at Inamorato. The bouncer had gone home, the seekers were out flying and Prowl was seated in the nook near the bar, reading tablet in hand. He systematically rose early to perform his Circuit-su routine in the organic room then retrieved the news tablet from the doorstep outside. He was pleased to read in peace as typically, Chromia was already awake and on his case by the time he emerged from the organic room. This morning, however, she was absent and he wasn't complaining.
Finally, the Classic Room's door creaked open and the missing femme staggered onto the balcony. After a couple steps, she had to stop and lean into the railing with a groan. Prowl raised a curious optic brow to her then resumed his reading, feigning disinterest. She attempted the painful task of walking down the stairs, each step pulling a different profanity from her. Prowl could no longer suppress his curiosity and lifted his full attention to her as she plodded, bow-legged to the nearest cushion and dropped onto her stomach with a relieved grunt.
"I promise never to tease you again" she murmured into the cushion "if you could do me this one favor." Prowl rose and headed straight for the bar.
"Polloniom Painkiller" predicted Prowl with a smirk, saying it in unison with the femme. He started collecting the elixir's components and couldn't resist fishing for information. "Am I correct in assuming" he said cheekily "that the night didn't turn out as you expected?"
She groaned into the cushion then propped her head up. "I have never been so humiliated, so outplayed, so used and so defiled."
Prowl peeks up with surprising concern.
Her face dropped into the cushion again with a sigh. "And I loved every moment of it."
