For The Race – Prime Protector.
Chapter Seventeen.
A/N: The word "interface" can be used, as Phoenix13 explained in the story inspired this story, as the rod in the mech ('He sheathed his interface') the port in the femme, ('in her interface') or the act itself (the interface was enjoyable for them both') Also, derma are lips, and the glossa is the tongue.
Sam was a little puzzled at first when Optimus made no further moves, just stood looking at her and holding her hand. Was Optimus getting cold feet about teaching her, she wondered? Hoping not, she tugged on his hand and took a few steps towards his room, and found he followed quite willingly. She suddenly remembered him stating that the choice of time and person to teach her must be hers, and she assumed that Optimus meant that the pace would also be set by her.
Slowly she led him into his back room, and he put down the energon on a cabinet by the berth. He then surprised her by gently placing his hands about her waist, and lifting her until she was seated upon the berth. He caught her hands in his and his optics caught hers too, holding her gaze and asking silently if she was still sure about this. Sam nodded her head almost imperceptibly, suddenly aware of his warm hands holding hers, the air whooshing through her vents, and the flicker of what must have been her Spark in her chest.
His head dipped and the optic contact was broken as she felt his metal lips brush hers lightly, then return to press slightly harder to hers. Then he lifted his head to catch her optics again, the same question in his own. Again she nodded slightly, and he dipped his head again, his lips pressing more firmly against hers, his hands rising lightly to touch her shoulders, not tightly to hold her but loosely to support her and loose enough so she could pull away. Her own hands rose to slide up his arms and it was she who gripped firmly to him.
Sam could not explain her actions, they were not born of her processors but of her Spark. Her processors did put up a brief fight, but it was over almost as soon as it began, her emotions overriding her last human male prejudices. Her derma pressed against his as she tightened her grip on his shoulders, and she used him to support her as she stood, so that her hands could reach up further, and she broke the kiss in order to caress his helm.
This action prompted a surprised gasp from Optimus' own vents, but his hands did not stall or falter, reaching around to her back, half in caress and half in a clasp. She did not cease her caresses but continued them, thinking that she would never tire of stroking his armour, which although it was hard enough to protect him from most attacks was smoother than anything she could recall touching before.
It was different from when Sam had caressed Mikaela, and not just because Sam's role was reversed. Mikaela's skin was smooth too, but sometimes she got goose-pimples, or small scratches. Goose-pimples were not part of a Cybertronian's make-up, and what scratches Optimus got either self-repaired or were repaired by Ratchet, and felt quite different to human scabs. Add to this the firm but yielding flesh of Mikaela's body versus warm but unyielding Cybertronian hide, and although some comparisons between stroking Mikaela and stroking Optimus could be made, the sensations were otherwise very different!
Mikaela had given him some advice, based on her own experience of being female. "Remember what I did to you that you enjoyed, and try doing the same thing with him, and even try some of the things you know I enjoyed, well, where you can with a robot," she had suggested. "Remember, he's not human, you don't know where he might be sensitive. Explore, carefully of course, but find out if he's got any place sensitive, no matter how unlikely it would be to arouse a human. And if he does something you don't like, say so! He's an alien, so expect the unexpected."
Okay, first things first, things he was familiar with, and with that in mind, she dropped down into a kneeling position. Optimus clasped her tighter until he realised her apparent collapse was intentional. In this position, her face was level with his abdominal plating, and, hoping Cybertronians were as sensitive there as some humans, she leaned forwards and began to shower kisses on the corrugated structure.
Optimus' vents stalled again and he twisted, a chuckle escaping his derma, and Sam, realising the light kisses might be tickling him, pressed firmer, her hands stroking and exploring his sides as her derma pressed against the plating.
One thing Sam had discovered by self-exploration early on was that although some Cybertronians had tongues (Ratchet had used the term 'glossa') the environment inside the mouth cavity of a Cybertronian was dry. The glossa was very slick to the feel with some sort of super-smooth coating, but it was not wet. Hoping again that Cybertronians didn't mind using different parts of their body, she began touching his hide with it, at first hesitantly, with just the tip, then with more confidence and using more of the glossa as the whines and cries from above left her with little doubt that the big Prime was enjoying it.
For his part, Optimus was beginning to wonder who was teaching whom. That was the second move Sam had made that he was unused to but that he found extremely stimulating.
Suddenly remembering his manners, and that he was, indeed, supposed to be teaching, he closed his arms around her in a gentle embrace, and slowly, without any sudden movement, reclined onto the berth on his back, holding her in place atop him. He was more than happy for her to be on top, for he was very aware of the size discrepancy between them, and did not want to scare her by looming over her. An additional advantage was that as his hands did not need to support himself, or her any more, they were free to do other things. Once his hands no longer needed to support her, he began using them to stroke her back and sides, occasionally trailing one finger up to tickle her shoulders or caress her face.
After a short time, he transferred the attention of one hand to her lower body, using it to caress her feet, her legs and her aft. He knew that he himself was fairly sensitive around the legs, and as they were more than half his body length it would be surprising if they weren't, but he thought it might be similar with her.
He took it slowly, for teaching should never be rushed, and as he stroked and gently squeezed he was also alert and attentive, ready to stop or pull back if Sam gave any indication that she was having second thoughts, or was feeling pushed, or wanted to stop. He knew what the signs of such might be, and was ready to react if he felt her tense, or flinch, or resist anything he was doing. He kept a watch on her face when he could, alert for a look of fear, a dilation of the optics that had nothing to do with desire, but was pleased to notice that there had been no sign of such, at least not so far.
She had stopped probing his abdomen with her glossa now, and instead her fingers began trailing along his seams, something that was just as stimulating, and he allowed a sigh from his vents to be audible to let her know he was enjoying the sensation, as his hands continued stroking, caressing, gliding over the contours of her smooth and lean body. As she flicked a quick look upwards, he wanted to put his arms around her and slide her up his body so he could reach to kiss her derma and face, but as this was a teaching, he resisted, for this was meant to progress at her pace or not at all.
When her hands stopped caressing and instead pushed against his abdomen, he immediately stopped his touching of her and lifted his arms up so she could, if she wanted, slip off him without feeling restrained or confined. He supposed that, as Sam had so recently been a human male, second thoughts or fearful feelings were only to be expected. However, Sam did not try to get away, but crawled up his body until her head and his were almost level. As her hands began tracing circles on the glass on his chest, she craned her neck up towards him.
He gave a deep bass chuckle as he replaced his arms and allowed his hands to continue their caresses, now understanding the human idiom 'great minds think alike.' Bending his own neck, his derma brushed over her moulded hair, then her forehead. As she pushed herself up and out from him just a bit further, he was able to lightly kiss her burnished cheek, and then they were derma to derma. He kept his kiss light, so it was Sam who was the first to deepen it, the Prime following her lead.
She wriggled a bit, and Optimus recognised the movement as an attempt to get into a more comfortable position. He carefully broke the kiss, gently slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her up to assist, as she brought her legs up until she was straddling his wide chest, her upper legs almost at right angles to her body, her lower legs crooked at the knees. As she lowered herself down again to kiss, her hands began tentatively stroking his neck.
He bucked slightly beneath her as her touch sent a frisson of pleasurable sensation down his cables, and to his embarrassment, he could feel himself quickly becoming aroused as the touch seemed to send a signal from his neck straight down into his crotch. Quickly he tried to damp it down: he was supposed to be teaching her, and he did not want his own arousal to make him rush this. When, he wondered, had he become so easy to arouse?
He returned his attention to Sam as her glossa flickered in and out of his mouth cavity in a most distracting manner. Optimus wondered whether Sam had done her own research on the Net, or whether she had learned this from the clearly far more experienced Mikaela while they were an item. As he reached for Sam's own neck, and made gentle contact, Sam twisted and moaned into his mouth under his experienced touch. He recalled that Mikaela had also proved to be sensitive there, something else, it seemed, that humans and Cybertronians had in common.
As Sam twitched and faltered, Optimus' sensitive olfactory organ picked up the first traces of her arousal scent. As Sam began pulling back Optimus released her, disappointed but resigned to having to finish himself off for another night.
"Um, sorry, I...um...I think I've kinda...wet myself," Sam said, and Optimus felt a rush of relief as he realised Sam was not frightened or unwilling, but embarrassed, and this he could explain to Sam. No doubt Ratchet had explained about femme secretions, but he thought it unlikely that he'd explained it in a way that Sam might associate with the sensation she was now having.
"Sam, all Cybertronians, be they mech or femme, will not lose control of their waste lubricant drainage system unless the mechanism is damaged, and I think that as new and untested in battle as your new body is, that possibility is extremely remote. I think it is more likely that the stimulation of your sensors is sending signals to your body to release a different lubricant, one associated with physical interface. Mikaela told me that such a reaction is normal in human femmes as well. Do not fret: I would be more concerned if your body was not reacting."
"Um...yeah...well...right, okay," Sam said her embarrassment obvious, although she lay back down. "Well, what happens now? I assume if my body is doing that, it's ready for the next stage?"
"Only if your processors are also happy to move on," Optimus clarified. The incident seemed to have affected Sam's confidence and her arousal had visibly diminished, but Optimus had an idea what to do about that. Shifting onto his side, he settled Sam in the crook of his arm and smiled gently down at her. "Are you thirsty?" he asked. She nodded a bit uncertainly, not sure what was going on.
Optimus reached over to the cube of energon he had left on the side earlier, a precaution he always took when teaching in case he needed to distract his pupil, or if they needed a break. He dipped two fingers into it and withdrew them, slick and dripping with energon. He moved the fingers over until they were hovering above Sam's mouth, the drips falling onto her derma. When Sam did not react, he moved the fingers to her mouth, smoothing energon around it and then drew them back. "Then why not drink, Sam, the energon is available."
The touch of the Prime had been gentle, and Sam hesitated just a moment more before tentatively running her glossa over her derma to lick up the energon. Optimus reached over again for more energon, and repeated this procedure two more times. The third time, however, instead of just drawing back his fingers, he leaned in to kiss her energon-slick dermaplating, drawing back and licking off the energon on his own with a smile and a wink.
"Ratchet would accuse us of playing with the energon like the messiest sparkling, but he's not here," Optimus chuckled. Sam smiled back, her nerves dissipating, just as Optimus dipped his fingers again and rested them on the space left between her derma. Sam could feel the energon trickle into her mouth, and was unsurprised when she felt Optimus press down. She did not resist, opening her mouth to allow the digits entry.
Her glossa curled up to lick them as Optimus moved them about, the movements part to allow the glossa to curl about them and partly as a caress. Sam had never seen the mouth as useful for much other than kissing or licking, so to be caressed inside the mouth was a new experience, but not an unpleasant one, in fact, she found it curiously arousing.
Optimus withdrew his fingers, to Sam's disappointment, but only to get more liquid, and when they returned, Sam eagerly allowed them back in her mouth. This time her glossa did not just lick the energon off, but curled and prodded at the fingers more in a sort of caress. He, for his part, left his fingers in her mouth for longer than it took for the energon to be licked off, twining them with her glossa, stroking at her dentaplating, the insides of her cheeks and roof of her mouth, touching gently, stroking and lightly probing. As he began to slowly withdraw them, Sam played along, nipping the ends and trying to catch them with her derma, laughing as he pulled the fingers back in mild surprise. Looking into her optics, he could see her arousal was returning.
Optimus resumed touching Sam around the shoulders and neck and a shiver of desire shuddered through her frame as the expert fingers sent wave after wave of pleasurable sensation down her neck. Her optics contracted, widened out a bit and then seemed to flicker. If Optimus was any judge, she was as ready as she'd ever be.
"Okay, I think now's about right," Sam said, and Optimus' audios picked up the tiny tremor in her voice, and analysed it as his optics flickered all over her frame ,and his olfactory sensors registered a strengthening of her arousal scent. He identified the quiver in her voice as anticipation rather than fear, and she was not shaking or trying to push or turn away from him. All to the good. However, he still had to make sure Sam knew that she did not have to go on. Having that assurance would, he hoped, be a comfort to her if she did baulk.
"Sam, this is not a point of no return. If at any point you wish to stop, just say so."
"Just get on with it won't you?" Sam asked. "Stop being a tease." Her hands returned to cling to his shoulders as she arched to push her body against him, and through that contact he could feel the heat running through her frame. He ran his hands down her body a few more times, twisting himself onto his side, and then reached down towards his crotch-plate. He hesitated, looking up at her to be sure she wanted this, but she seemed more interested in nuzzling his shoulder and - he gasped – gently biting down on some of his armour edges. He carefully released the clasps and lifted his crotch plate aside.
The movement registered with Sam, who shifted, pushing away, and at first Optimus thought that this time she might well be having second thoughts, but as she pushed herself down and then leaned back, he realised, as he put the crotch-plate aside, that she just wanted to take a look.
It didn't look particularly impressive: the metal was matte rather than polished to a high shine, but in the same way a racing car engine is matte: it still looked good, such a high-tech piece of machinery didn't need to be shiny for its functionality and lines to show. It was made, alternately, of thin plates of metal and rings of metal that overlapped and nested together, linked by what could have been a more malleable metal or a different substance, which appeared to connect the different parts of the structure together, which had the appearance of a cylinder.
As Sam watched, it uncurled from where it had rested, and began to erect, much as the organic penises of human males did. As she watched, it lengthened as metal plates and circles came out of the middle of the cylinder and built up on the end, making the cylindrical protuberance lengthen. At the same time it seemed to turn, almost like the iris if Optimus' optic, narrowing the cylinder, which was visibly more slender at the tip than at the base. It was now a good foot long, and Sam wondered if it would be too large.
Optimus seemed to read her thoughts.
"It will, if there is not enough room for it, retract enough of its length so it will not hurt you. It will also increase or decrease it's circumference as needed. It will adapt to be certain that it fits. Now, how about we take a look at you?"
He didn't move his hands, just looked at her queryingly, and at first Sam was nonplussed but then she remembered.
'My own pace, right, okay, he won't remove it unless I give him permission. So either I've got to take it off, or,-'
She looked up at him, her vents hitching. "Would you take it off?" she asked. She could do it herself, but he and Mikaela had always preferred to undress each other, it made it more sensual this way. She gave a slight chuckle: she supposed for Optimus this was akin to Sam removing Mikaela's panties when he was still human, still male, still her boyfriend.
Optimus smiled gently back, and he carefully reached down. One hand spread against Sam's back and pressed her gently to his body: not to confine - if Sam pushed back he'd let go – but so he could feel for negative responses to his action, such as stiffening, struggling, tensing or shaking. As he felt none, he brushed his fingers against the crotch plate, once, twice, a third time, just to make certain she was sure. Sam emitted a high-pitched cry, and squirmed against him, but Optimus' audios detected that the sound was not of fear, but of desire, as was her twisting movement against him.
Taking his cue from that, he undid the catches of Sam's crotch plate, one by one, slowly, so that if she wanted to pull away or stop him, she could. She did no such thing, and he took the plate and carefully put it aside, noting that the inside was slick with interface lubricant. Sam pulled away, and Optimus pulled his hand back, aware that even now she might feel the need to back out, but no, she bent double – one advantage Sam had found with her new body, increased flexibility, Optimus supposed – and had a look at her own port.
Optimus was slightly surprised – he would have thought she would have looked at it alone, earlier, but then, maybe she had, or maybe she was just curious as to how it looked now. Optimus bent his head to look too, noticing that her port was so slick with lubricant that it was dripping. Her arousal-scent was strong here and heady, and a lesser mech may have seized hold of her and taken her without thought, but Optimus was a Prime, had taught many, and his success was partly down to his careful self-control. He understood that sensuality and foreplay was very important, sometimes more important to the femme than the mech. Simply impaling her on his rod or thrusting into her without further ado was never Optimus' way. He could be dominant or submissive, swift or excruciatingly slow, but the femme's wants, needs and desires were always at the top of Optimus' sexual agenda. But there was something else that needed to be taken care of first.
"Sam, are your comms, internal and external, turned off? It would not do to be interrupted at a crucial moment."
Sam checked, her optics flickered, and she muttered "They are now!"
Sam continued watching as Optimus extended one digit and touched the area around the slick port. Sam gasped, watching and writhing in pleasure, as he drew the finger first away and then towards the wet opening of Sam's femininity. He touched with a finger, raised the finger to his olfactory organ and inhaled deeply, her arousal perfume – subtly different from any others – catalogued and stored in his processors. No two femmes smelled alike, he'd recognise Sam's scent across a packed room until his permanent deactivation. Then he lowered the digit slightly, slowly reached his finger into his mouth, and ran the tip of his glossa over it.
His other hand had gently settled on Sam's back, and he felt the jolt that went through her at the action, and knew she had to be just moments away from an overload. He shifted, rolling to his side and making sure their crotches were level, and hoped Sam herself would make the next move, as he stroked her back in a fashion both reassuring and arousing.
Sam, for her part, was adrift in a world of confused desire. Had she felt like this as a human, she would have suspected her drink had been spiked. As it was, although she couldn't be sure, she didn't think Optimus had put anything in the energon, the cube had originally been drawn to be drunk by him, well before she had requested teaching. Her processors, however, were clear, but all concurring: interface with a mech this arousing, this considerate, this careful, this incredible, was very much a good idea. To turn away or change her mind now would be a very big mistake.
She let out a cry, clearly needy, as he twisted to put his interface rod within reach, and she reached out with both hands, quelling the slight protest the last vestiges of her humanity put up about both she and Optimus being male. She stroked that strong yet oddly flexible mech appendage, and now it was Optimus who cried out with desire, Optimus who found his processors telling him that not to interface fully with this femme would be a bad move for both parties. However, there was still that part of him that reminded him that he was a teacher, he had to let Sam be the one who made the move that would link them, however briefly, in the physical act of interface.
Anything of Sam that was human or male had either been banished by her system, or was lying very low. She bent to lay kisses on that warm, strong yet flexible mechhood, and as the tip dipped further as the Prime rolled further onto his side, Sam raised her own groin, put the mouth of her well-lubricated port to the tip of his interface rod, and slid herself slowly but steadily on to it. To her surprise, as long as it had looked, she managed to take that foot-long appendage into herself with no tightness, awkwardness, or pain.
Optimus cried out as he felt his rod enclosed by her warm and moist valve, his voice rising with hers. They both began moving, rocking, backwards and forwards, the lubricant provided by Sam's body allowing easy movement. Feeling erupted from Sam, her port suddenly the centre of everything, all feeling flowing from it into her arms, legs, neck, back, head.
It was not so different for Optimus, except that his interface rod was the centre of his universe. It was as if Sam were secreting sensation into his rod with every pulse, every contraction of her valve, around his willing interface. From there it seemed to erupt into his limbs and body, into every sensor, setting his hide a-tingle and his processors ablaze. He arched as Sam did, she clinging to his waist, him with his hands against her back. He reflected slightly that she would need to learn about Spark-merging as well, in a separate lesson, and regretted that her size made physical and Spark interface simultaneously impossible, for when it was, it was hugely satisfying for both parties.
Because Optimus' private comms were off, and because the intercom in his room was off, Optimus was not informed that unexpected landings had occurred. Because it was not a medical emergency, nor a situation that demanded intervention, Ratchet did not go to Optimus' room and manually gain entrance. Because nobody thought that Sam might need to know, nobody tried to inform Sam when things around the Autobot Base began to get a bit more interesting for all the mechs there. Because Ratchet was suddenly inundated with work and other things to concentrate on, Ratchet could not assist when it became obvious that, despite his instructions, the Prime was about to be disturbed.
Sam and Optimus were aware of nothing else except each other as their physical interfacing reached its climax. Neither of them heard the door of his quarters, the lock overridden via a specific security-cracking virus, open. Neither of them were aware of the visitor to Optimus' quarters who silently padded over to the desk, quickly drew a cube of energon, and then slipped into his room and watched as the pair overloaded with a mingled scream that could have roused the Matrix and the Pit combined.
It was Optimus who regained consciousness first, groaning and shifting to draw free of Sam. He was used to recovering first, used to drawing energon for his pupil to replenish the energy spent during interfacing. He took a cleaning cloth from out of one leg, cleaned his rod with it, which then shrank down to normal size and snugged into the depression built for it. He didn't at first register the significance of reaching for his crotch plate to find it placed into his outstretched hand.
Only when Optimus had replaced his crotch plate, wiped Sam's own crotch clean, and replaced Sam's armour, did he register the pink and white legs next to his berth. A groan told him that Sam was reviving, but his attention by now was elsewhere. His optics travelled up the legs to find they were joined to a familiar crotch, and body, with familiar arms, and hands, and neck, and face. As his processors caught up with his optics, and his vocaliser engaged, he was able to speak.
"E-e-Elita?" he stammered.
As the imposing femme, who was as tall again as Sam replied "One and the same," Sam groaned and covered her face. Ironhide had told her that Cybertronian femmes were famous for three things: their beauty, their skill at fighting, and their tempers.
As the femme Optimus had named as his bonding-intended asked "So who is your friend, Optimus?" Sam had a sneaking suspicion she was about to receive firsthand experience of the third.