[* * * * *]

Pt. 5: "Xenophilia (specifically where the Cybertronian is being held down and given The Bad Touch)"

[* * * * *]

The only thing more fitting would have been if their owner took Brawl first. There would have been a certain poetic justice to that. It was the tankformer's fault that they were attempting to seduce a rubbery Earth beast, after all, and Onslaught wasn't above a bit of vengeance. If Brawl had kept his revulsion tactful in the slightest, the other Combaticons wouldn't be suffering. Blast Off's peculiar 'job' would have remained a one-mech function within the unit. Harem. Whatever their group was, now.

Brawl deserved humiliation.

Unfortunately, it no longer felt like humiliation. It didn't even feel as benign as duty. It felt like a compulsion. Physical need gnawed into their brain modules and ran fire down their wires, arousal sandpapering their sensors down to raw activation at the slightest brush of metal or water. Dolphins did nothing for Onslaught's mind, but his body lusted for the creatures, now. His body felt and felt, dragging his horrified thoughts along for the ride. The slave code changed him inside and out. Equipment onlined, swiftly followed by protocols twisting his natural reactions around until he wanted, then he needed, then he craved .

Brawl lagged in seductive ability compared to what the other Combaticons learned to do. Not that they hadn't started out on equal footing sloshing around in the ocean queasily offering their respective… holes …to the dolphin, but their Lord and Master apparently didn't recognize custom-remodeled Cybertronian sex slaves when they threw themselves at him. Seducing him took more effort than just transforming to present. Enticing him to use them required trial and error.

Hence why Blast Off continued his - her - reign as head of the harem, and Brawl failed to be first. Onslaught loathed the envy he felt when Blast Off finally succeeded in her efforts, but he'd never learned to control his ambition. The last time he'd gotten powerhungry, Shockwave had spark-boxed the whole unit. Onslaught should have learned the lesson then, but no. Even slaves had an internal hierarchy. Onslaught might not be able to unseat Blast Off as first and favored, but he knew exactly what he had to do to stay her second.

And it felt right, too. Better to be second than the lowest ranking slave in the harem. Onslaught recoiled mentally from his duty, but his body enthusiastically supported the idea.

"How likely is it that the opportunity to mate will keep him closer to us?" he asked as he waded out beside Blast Off.

The question earned interested looks from the Swindle and Vortex. Brawl was still a miserable lump of denial on the beach, but the other two Combaticons had decided days ago that participating in, er, harem duties was far preferable to torture. None of them could fight the slave code that ruled their minds and bodies.

"Dolphins seem to chase sex almost as much as humans," Swindle said after poring over their limited data. "Might work!"

Vortex had a better optic for behavioral quirks, but he shrugged helplessly at their inquiring looks. "Not really my specialty, guys." Give him a Cybertronian to interrogate, and he'd have the mech analyzed down to component parts. Dolphins had completely different psychology. The slave code had adapted disturbingly well to an organic beast as their owner, but Vortex was out of his depth, here.

Inter-species communication had improved, at least. Blast Off had cobbled together a sort of sonar ping from her communications array that worked underwater. None of them were precisely sure what the ping said in dolphin, but it certainly gained the pod's attention. Dolphins were curious animals. Settling into the water on her back pinging them had prompted close investigation of her altmode, and eventually, a kind of sonar-ping game - hot/cold, getting cooler, getting warmer, warmer, warmer, hot - had brought their owner to the right spot. After that, it had only been a matter of time.

Overturned onto her altmode roof, Blast Off hardly looked comfortable. She didn't complain. Stoic, thy name was Blast Off. "While I understand you want to keep our Master nearby," she said without flinching at the degrading title, "he has to eat. Ready access to pleasure won't change his feeding habits. He's been leaving with his family unit as per usual."

"He returns faster," Swindle hazarded. "I think?"

Blast Off had more experience with the dolphin pod. "Not noticeably. His family unit departs and returns within the same schedule. They return to us when they require entertainment, and that's a fickle interest."

Onslaught's mind ticked over, turning the problem around to study it from every angle. "Swindle, how much fish can you order airlifted in?"

The conartist looked canny one second but depressed the next, deflating with a sigh. "I…it's not what I can order. I can't finalize anything without permission."

Which, they already knew, they couldn't obtain. Not even Blast Off's limited authority extended to financial decisions.

But Onslaught had a different solution ready. He'd just wanted to avoid it if at all possible. He'd noticed the dolphins swarming Blast Off's new orifice all had one trait in common, and only Blast Off's refusal to open in offer had kept the male dolphins at bay. The sole dolphin allowed to mount her took frequent advantage of that fact, even if he sometimes had to struggle through the cluster of eager erections in his way.

Even as Onslaught watched, his Lord and Master wriggled around another rubbery, tubular fish-mammal in order to slip belly-to-belly with Blast Off. The curved, hard penis the Combaticons unwillingly craved plunged into the tiny hole opened to it, and a few seconds of subdued thrashing commenced. Blast Off made a choked noise before cutting off her vocalizer. Onslaught forced himself to keep watching. Stubby shuttle wings twitched. Biolights suddenly flashed.

Blast Off didn't say anything as the dolphin withdrew from her, but she wouldn't. An organic orgasm, they'd found, took far more out of them then the overloads they were used to. Overload was a quick snap of circuitbreakers, and it took more to rile them up each time the electricity was interrupted. The slave code didn't allow them that rest period. Dolphins evidently had a short refraction period, and the Combaticons' new organic-compatible equipment wrung them out in extended afterglows and short but intense orgasms that upset all their systems.

Blast Off was exhausted. Obedient, but exhausted.

Onslaught fought a losing battle against himself. Fists closed tight, he finally lowered himself to his knees in the warm ocean water. "Extended access to as much sex as they want will tire his family," he said out loud as he slowly transformed, shifting gradually to avoid scaring the pod swimming around him. "The more of his family unit that shares his unwillingness or inability to travel far, the closer to us they'll stay."

It took a second to sink in.

Vortex choked on thin air. "You're - you're talking about - " He stopped and looked ill.

Swindle looked no less sick, but he finished the thought out loud. "Servicing the whole pod. Tire them out, and they'll stick around."

Plus, ready access to sex would be a lure to the other males in the pod, but Onslaught couldn't make himself say that. "Sex with an Earth creature is sex with an Earth creature," he said, reaching for logic. He needed cool detachment to go through with this. "It doesn't make a difference once you think about it."

The slave code disagreed, of course, but the Combaticons had come to the grim, silent consensus that the slave code could be reasoned with. In a way. Generally not a pleasant way, and not using reason, but it could sometimes be soothed into grudging approval if they didn't push or demand. Beg, yes, and persuade, but not demand. Slave didn't demand, ever.

Onslaught packaged his idea in layers of submission and desire to please, wrapped himself in meek humility, and did his best to convince himself that the arousal flooding his sensor network applied to the rest of the dolphin pod. A good slave to his Lord and Master would seek to please his owner by pleasing all of the dolphins. They were obviously a social species. So long as he remembered his owner always had first access, surely a good slave would ensure a supply of pleasure for the entire extended family unit. Right?

After scrutinizing his thoughts for the smallest sign of Bad Slave, the code settled down. It took a while. Onslaught felt stripped bare by the time it subsided, but it kept his mind temporarily off reality for the brief seconds before he folded completely into his altmode. That was good enough for the moment.

Buoyed up by brand new flotation devices, Onslaught bobbed up and down on the mild waves. It made his fuel tanks slosh unpleasantly. He'd never been seasick, but then again, he hadn't spent much time on the ocean before. It really didn't help that the tiny slit opening and closing on his undercarriage felt every single water current swirling against it like a teasing brush of flesh and heat. The hole had only become more sensitive since its activation test.

Onslaught shuddered, remembering. Memory was strong. Orgasm still flushed heat through his wires and made him damp deep inside. He hated the power the equipment protocols had, hated how his body craved his owner, but he was powerless to fight the currents of pleasure rippling out from each clench and release.

Either the dolphins could smell the holes now, or they were smarter than Onslaught had given them credit for. Possibly both. Dolphins could learn, according to human documentaries. If one metal creature wanted to frag, then the dolphins would explore whether this one did, too.

Swindle and Vortex shifted from foot to foot up on the beach as Onslaught shivered, engine shifting up to a thin whine audible where they stood. He offlined his vocalizer, but like Blast Off, the visible cues still existed. No matter how disciplined a soldier he was on the battlefield, every moving part on him cringed and winced now.

The worst part was the difference. He had just enough sensors on his underside to keep track of the one moving shape tagged as Master . The others got to him first, however, and he'd been wrong. There was a difference between being fucked by a normal dolphin and serving his Master.

Logically, it shouldn't hurt. He'd done more injury to himself drilling holes for a weapons mount, and he'd never flinched from that. Yet the stiff, curved piece of flesh thrust past the lips into his shallow orifice nearly clawed a yelp from his vocalizer before he could shut it off, and Onslaught cringed. The damp wetness slicking him turned icy, and all the hot eager lust running fire down his wires chilled to a profound sense of wrong wrong wrong . It hurt . The dolphin taking him turned the squicky, squishy pleasure his Master controlled into a burning cold , a sickening sensation as an alien organ thrust inside him where the slave code tore him apart to feel every second as violation.

Onslaught jolted in the water, tires spinning uselessly, but the dolphin took his pleasure without stopping. After him came another, and another, the male dolphins rubbing against his undercarriage as if pushing him to be ready faster when he couldn't stop them from taking him over and over.

"Onslaught?"

"Hey, Onslaught. Hey."

"Respond, fraggit!"

Distantly, he could hear the other Combaticons calling, worry and fear for themselves thick in their voices. He couldn't respond. This had been a terrible mistake he couldn't correct, the slave coding sternly holding him in place. It forced him to accept the thrust and plunge deep into his vulnerable, sensor-laced hole, holding him open and receptive despite how very much he wanted to recoil. Onslaught wanted to clamp himself shut and transform, stumbling back up to the safety of the sand with his armor flat to his body in futile defense against the small Earth mammals in the water. He couldn't stop jerking, jolting, seizing up in sickened reflex as he was gangraped by an organic species that took what he had to offer.

Feet splashed into the water, and he heard without comprehending the sound of transformation as Blast Off stood up, three people reaching out to haul him free of the violation.

Shock wheezed a stifled groan out around vocalizer lockdown as a particular dolphin took his turn. " Hnnngh! "

The slave code stopped the other three Combaticons dead. Onslaught couldn't appreciate their attempt to help him, too stunned by the abrupt whiplash from revolted horror to terrible, overwhelming, system-straining pleasure. His engine roared , startling the dolphin pressed to his underside, but the quick flick as his owner pulled loose tore a scream of protest out of him. Pleasure dropped into a pit of aching loss.

Punishment. Punishment for not submitting as a slave should, the code wrote directly into his equipment protocols, overriding any thought to the contrary, and it wasn't about what Onslaught thought. It was never about what a slave thought. It was about what the slave code dictated, and that determined how a slave felt . Onslaught moaned in despair as the sore lips of his hole quivered, longing to be used, because only further use would pay for displeasing his owner. His owner clearly would only reward him with sex if he submitted fully to the rest of the pod, accepting the abuse as a way to appease his Lord and Master.

He couldn't move from the water. He couldn't protest. "Leave me," he croaked at the others, and if his spark flinched inside him, there wasn't anything he could do about it.

[* * * * *]