Ratchet found himself purring as he eyed the small 'toy chest' that Sonata set on the stage in front of him. Ratchet was kneeling there, on the backlit stage floor that was quickly being surrounded by all sorts of creatures, glancing up at the scaffolding to see if he could predict what was going to happen here.

"All right, folks, ready?" Staccato spoke to the crowd, even as he focused the camera on Ratchet. "All right then, in five, four, three . . ."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to a very special episode of 'Chained Silk' tonight!" Sonata purred. "That's right, nothing 'tied' about this one; we're pulling out all the stops for a very special guest of ours . . . You won't have to try hard to recognize our guest tonight. He's ran roughshod over two galaxies, has spent the better part of a year being held prisoner for a holovision show . . . and yet in spite of all this, the poor kit's been blueballed for as long as he can remember. Let's see if we can't change that, shall we?"

Ratchet blinked as Sonata sat down beside him, one hand tugging at the oversized shirt he still wore. She smiled again, cocking her head up to whisper in his ear. "You want to explain yourself, or should I do it?"

He paled, looking up at the camera nervously, unable to speak. "I . . . I think you better do it."

"Aww, and here I thought you were used to the cameras!"

"Come on, you think I'm used to looking like this in front of them?" Ratchet spoke, before pulling off his t-shirt, much to the delight of the crowd around him. He was as naked as ever under that shirt, and in the harsh lighting of the stage, his malnourished form stood out again, and he became overly conscious of this. "DreadZone really did me in . . . it doesn't even feel like my body anymore."

"We can fix that . . ." Sonata purred, giving Ratchet a brief scratch behind one ear, and Ratchet relaxed immediately, sitting up and spreading his limbs out, letting the camera get a better view of his anorexic anatomy. "But as long as you're healthy enough to have a little fun, let's see if we can't get your mind feeling a little better before we worry about the rest of you. Now, before we continue, let's just make this clear that you're doing this all because you want to, okay?"

"Sonata . . ." Ratchet spoke, stretching out as he laid down on the floor, inadvertently exposing himself to the camera as he placed his head in Sonata's lap. "Right now, I'd do just about anything you told me to."

The crowd whistled as Sonata glanced down at Ratchet, stroking his hair and pausing as she tried to recover from her blush. Ratchet took it as a sign, however brief, that she understood just what she was doing to him. "Well lucky for us, you said the same thing before we started rolling the cameras! As a bonus, unlike most of the planet, you're more than willing to include more than a little restraint into tonight's events . . ."

Ratchet nodded, shutting his eyes for another moment as he felt one hand on his right ear and the other hand on his neck, leaving his left ear to not-so-accidentally brush against her clothed crotch, and Ratchet felt it as the first rush of blood surged through his veins. "Please, Sonata . . ."

"Sounds like our guest is ready to get started tonight!" Sonata spoke, standing up to grab the toy chest, holding it in front of Ratchet. "Let's put these to good use on you, hmm?"

Ratchet nodded, blinking as the first piece she pulled out appeared to be a series of belts attached to rings. "What kind of . . . that's a prison harness, isn't it?"

"There's only so much fetish gear that comes in your size, now . . ." Sonata chided him, encouraging Ratchet to come forward, walking into the front of the harness. "Yes, it's a prisoner's harness. And just like it works on them, it'll hold your arms back just fine."

"I just . . . thought I was here to get that out of my-?" Ratchet spoke, before Sonata latched onto one of Ratchet's ears again, popping the tip into her mouth. This managed a low moan out of Ratchet, pausing in his stance as he felt her cinching the back of the harness into place, his arms now pinned to his sides.

He tried reaching out, but quickly found her hands reaching for his, pulling them behind his back and strapping them behind him as well, before she opened her mouth to speak, and the tip of Ratchet's ear fell free again. "Now, now, Ratchet . . . we're just making sure you don't try touching yourself while we work with you. You know how it works."

"Damn it, then, mind at least doing the touching for me?" Ratchet shot back, to much laughter from the crowd. "Come on, now . . . you said you weren't holding anything back . . ."

"But that's not what you really want, is it?" She smirked, running a hand down his front. Ratchet moaned, quickly growing unsteady on his feet as she took a brief hold. "Come on, now, admit it."

"Sonata . . ." Ratchet hissed, leaning back now.

"Tell me what you want, Ratchet." Sonata purred, her breath on the back of his neck. "I want to hear you say it."

"I want you!" Ratchet leaned forward, causing Sonata to lurch forward, catching herself before she fell. Ratchet moved forwards again, trying to kiss Sonata, but came up short, dropping forward onto his knees. "Please . . ."

"Ratchet, there's a lot of people in this galaxy who find me attractive. I can't please them all." Sonata smirked, pushing Ratchet back. "You're already in a pretty vulnerable position as is right now — don't make a fool out of yourself while you're at it."

"Sonata, please . . ." Ratchet mewled, crawling on his knees. " I know what I want here, please . . ."

"Sit!"

Sonata spoke, and Ratchet fell back to sitting on his ankles, all too happy to obey. She took a hold of his hair, pushing his head back as she reached for additional restraints. Ratchet blinked, looking back to see Staccato still filming, and then Ratchet felt a wash of embarrassment on his face. He wasn't supposed to fall for her, or at least not like this.

"Perhaps we ought to make sure your movements are further restricted . . ." Sonata spoke up, kneeling down to set the straps on Ratchet's legs, rooting him to his current position. "After all, we want to make sure you get what you asked for, right?"

Ratchet mewled, trying to nudge Sonata. "I'm serious, I want you . . ."

"Then you'll just have to behave and follow my orders then, won't you?" Sonata smirked, standing up so Ratchet's eyes were on the hem of her tunic. "Staccato, the camera."

"What's going on?" Ratchet blinked, noticing the hand-off to Sonata, who turned her lens back over to Ratchet's kneeling form.

"I want to test something . . ." Sonata smirked, watching as Staccato walked over to Ratchet, a small swagger in his step. "More to the point, I'd like to check out just how badly you care about 'control' versus your other preferences."

Ratchet blinked, confused, before glancing up at Staccato, who was now smiling down at him. "Sonata and I are a package deal, after all . . ."

"What are you . . . what do you . . .?" Ratchet blinked, then widened his eyes. "You can't be serious . . ."

"Hey, we're not about to stop you if you want to back down." Staccato spoke, his hips just a little lower than Ratchet's head. "After all, you seem more than willing to shower my wife with such affection . . . I believe I deserve some goodwill for being so generous with her . . ."

Ratchet gulped, looking up at him, watching carefully as Staccato deftly loosened his pants, smiling down at his celebrity prisoner. For a moment, the two looked up at each other, trying to read the other's next response. Ratchet gulped once more, hesitant, while Staccato merely presented himself, standing there, trying not to scare Ratchet any more than his stance already did.

Ratchet pulled his knees together, still staring up at him, with a look on his face that made it painfully clear how far in his throat his heart was. Damn it, this was what he was trying to avoid, he just wanted to lose himself in the moment right there . . . lose himself . . . lose enough control, just enough to let them slip up, like he almost managed with Sonata earlier . . . if this would lead him back to Sonata, then by all means!

He lurched forward, jaw closing in around Staccato, catching the film star off guard. The crowd around him gasped in shock as the two stumbled, Staccato deftly trying to catch his stance, now kneeling, with Ratchet bent over and quickly becoming a more active participant in his own session.

Ratchet tried to forget the buzzing of noise in his ears about his actions and merely focusing on how it felt to him, how oddly comforting the leather felt against his skin, the throbbing pulse around and about his legs. Guess she was right, he thought for a moment. Control must be more important to me right now than I thought. . .

The hero shut his eyes, zoning out momentarily, at least relieved for the moment that he was able to lose control without having an itchy trigger finger. He dully noted the hand on the back of his head, guiding him and his throat along, but Ratchet's mind was clearly elsewhere. Damn Staccato, damn the crowd, and damn the camera; he was going to take the situation for what it was worth!

Sonata blinked, keeping the camera focused out of sheer awe now as she captured this on film. Usually Staccato came up with the short end of the stick when it came to participants — most of them didn't like his forceful nature, least of all when he tried to get himself a little extra attention while she was stuck holding the camera. Ratchet seemed to thrive under that pressure, and from the looks on Staccato's face, even he wasn't expecting that sort of response out of him.

"Ra . . . Ratchet!" Staccato gasped out, still trying to grab the stage for support, his thighs loosening from their position around Ratchet's head. "Tha-that's enough! You didn't have to . . . you can stop any . . . oh, God . . ."

Staccato gave up a shrill trill of chirping, reaching out for Ratchet's ears, his eyes watering and muscles twitching, gasping for breath. Ratchet ignored it. The determination was evident on his face as he kept on, trying to get another trill out of Staccato, almost forgetting his current position, kneeling between this man's legs as he was.

Staccato cried out again, but this time with a much weaker series of chirps, coughing for air before he fell back. Ratchet smiled as he saw the star fall back, swallowing as an afterthought. A moment later, he jerked back in shock with Staccato pushing on his eyes, forcibly pulling himself away from Ratchet's muzzle. Staccato lied there for moment, curling up to collapse on the stage, his tail tucked between his legs.

Sonata blinked, glancing away from her camera to look down at her husband. "What in . . . overexposure?"

Staccato glanced up weakly at her. "A vacuum cleaner would've at least known when to stop . . ."

Ratchet was still bent over, catching his breath, before looking up at the camera and Sonata with a creeping, almost sinister smile. "That should take care of him for a while . . . How about you, Sonata? Care to try?"