Title: Siege
Warnings: Overlord is the opposite of cotton candy fluffy feels. He is a monster, and I tried to write him as such. You have been warned.
Rating: R
Continuity: IDW, AU based off the Candy From Strangers continuation.
Characters: Overlord, Fortress Maximus
Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.
Motivation (Prompt): Fortress Maximus - "First time" + Kinkmeme prompt (specialized interfacing equipment & rape).
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The battle is won, but the war keeps going. The Fortress is under siege.
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Overlord had tamed many pets in his time, making them out of a wide variety of mechs. Most of them had survived, early on when paying lip service to the Senate's precious laws still mattered. The vast majority of his toys since then had not been so lucky, although their lack of fortune was questionable. He'd made them beg for death before deigning to grant it, after all, and their words had been sincere.
His methods had refined, over time. In some capacities they had become harsher as the details fine-tuned, but not the ending. His tastes had changed as time passed, but the final blow had always been something he'd found too toothsome to pass up.
Even considering the history of pets before him, Fortress Maximus was special.
He was watching his latest pet scrubbing at the floor of the shuttle with a filthy rag. Nothing more than that, and it still made an amused smile curve the warlord's lips. Perhaps it was the rank, Overlord mused. A prison warden wasn't common, but the prison warden of the Autobots' most secure penitentiary was unique. Then again, the Phase Sixer had broken several officers in both factions whose positions were unique. This wasn't the first time he'd assigned a ranking mech degrading chores.
The setting, maybe? It wasn't often Overlord confined himself to small ships, much less a shuttle of this size. The spacecraft would have been far too piddling for anything but short transportation if the warlord hadn't had company. In fact, the small size of the shuttle had allowed him to concentrate all of his attention on that company. There were few distractions. The outposts in this sector were clustered together and lively with Decepticons, but having gone rogue, Overlord felt no obligation to become involved in the politics or local hierarchy.
As for the Decepticons at the outposts and passing through the sector, well, they liked living. Until the Decepticon Justice Division showed up or Lord Megatron himself gave the order, everyone was just going to pretend the Phase Sixer who occasionally docked for supplies and a few days out of the shuttle was still one of the faction. They didn't cause any trouble, and he left their outposts intact. He also brought them his always-entertaining personal Autobot slave, and that traveling show made him welcome anywhere he showed up.
Overlord grunted softly as he sat up to uncross his legs, and his pet froze. He could hear the way the mech's fans picked up until he recrossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. Only once he made no move to stand did his pet start scrubbing again. The rag smeared fuel and lubricant and hydraulic fluid across the floor, picking up some of the puddle but ultimately only making it worse as more fluids continued to drip from damaged plating. It was a futile task.
But a fitting one. It seemed appropriate that Fort Max should clean up his own mess.
It was the mech himself, Overlord decided, watching his pet painfully labor. He had tamed many mechs, breaking them in and discarding them once they ceased to be amusing. Fortress Maximus stood out in that he never quite broke. He bent, oh yes. He bent beautifully. He'd whored his body to Overlord to spare his garrison, and hadn't that been pleasant? Mmm, the Phase Sixer fondly recalled the warden's revulsion as Overlord played with him, and his unwilling compliance with every order given. That had been a delight.
Yet the Autobot had utterly refused to give up the secrets of Aequitas no matter who was threatened or what was done to him. That had impressed Overlord, really. More impressive yet was his resistance. Overlord was a master of pain and manipulation. He knew how to twist a mech's mind and abuse the body, but Fortress Maximus defied him at every turn.
At Garrus-9, chains had always been a requirement. Tight chains, because otherwise the stubborn mech would use them as a weapon. Overlord had laughed himself silly when the warden actually attempted to loop a pair of cuffs around his throat to strangle him. Laughed, then introduced the concept of it being a privilege to be allowed even a few links extra. The contortions taking away the chains between various limbs had forced had been educational when positioning the Autobot later. He was sure not even Fortress Maximus himself had been aware that his frame could twist so far.
Chains, nails, and shackles had continued to be a necessity even after Overlord had made the decision to leave the penitentiary and take the Autobot with him. That had been a surprise in light of what the Phase Sixer had put him through before leaving. He had thoroughly torn the warden apart, slow and excruciating, before having him repaired again. Fort Max had cursed his name and struggled the whole way down, and come up out of medical statis swinging. The maddened mech had killed fourteen Decepticons, including the medic who'd repaired him, before Overlord had walked in and subdued him.
The shudder of reflexive terror when the warden had seen him coming had been exquisite. The fact that he'd immediately recovered and launched himself at Overlord's throat had been a treat. Such spirit! Even after everything, Fort Max had kicked and fought as Overlord had dragged him onto the shuttle.
It'd taken time to chip that resistance away. For every sharp, independent edge smoothed into pure submission, a pocket of hatred lurked under the thin veneer. When the pressure built, the hatred burst to the surface in violence or defiance that Overlord couldn't predict. Every chain removed had been replaced by a mental inhibition trained into his pet's mind, but the Autobot still refused to give up.
The mech was an unparalleled game. Overlord had yet to grow tired of his appearance, much less become bored with playing with his mind.
Fortress Maximus had woken him up two days ago by stabbing him through an optic with the tiny surgical laser scalpel from the shuttle's emergency medical kit. The mech who could do that, knowing the consequences if the first blow wasn't immediately fatal, was not someone the warlord could label a temporary entertainment. Overlord was beginning to think this might be something more long-term. The sheer novelty of that was amusing by itself. Overlord had never had a pet remain functional for so long, mentally if not physically. He was impressed.
He'd also found himself prone to indulging the Autobot's spirit. He'd left the laser scalpel in the kit as a test of his pet's obedience, but also as an invitation. Waking up to the sharp crack and slash of pain as the scalpel lodged in his optic had been excellent, just excellent. He'd laid there on the berth and chuckled even before he'd brought intact optic online. He'd felt the grinding, circular motion as the hand on the scalpel attempted to pop it past the optic, attempted to stab it into his brain module, and he had laughed. The warden had taken the invitation and aced the test even as he'd failed it. Fortress Maximus was still unbroken.
The temptation to crush him, to truly see what he could take, was there. Overlord had already taken the mech apart at Garrus-9, however. While that earned him that delectable tremor of involuntary fear whenever he unlocked the shuttle's tool rack, it had failed to curb the acts of defiance. They'd simply become less reckless. Now, not every opportunity was grasped after. The Autobot bided his time carefully. Almost every order was obeyed, making it difficult to guess when the disobedience and wild violence would occur. Physical pain had made the warden wilier, more willing to plan out his attempts at killing Overlord or escaping.
That, in and of itself, caught Overlord's interest more every day. The training meant to shape the warden had instead condensed him, inverting outward bristling until it was concealed under the surface to wait. The taming process had subdued him, not broken him.
That intrigued Overlord. Bringing the Autobot to heel hadn't made him any less desirable. Usually, by the time one of his pet projects had gotten to the point of following his most depraved commands without protest, there wasn't anything left in them to keep his interest. However, the occasional, hidden glimmer of calculating thought had Overlord watching Fortress Maximus more closely than when he'd first gotten his hands on the warden.
The mech hadn't been a worthy opponent in a fight, not anything approaching Megatron's category, but he had traits that the warlord could admire. He'd told his pet as much as he'd slowly risen from the berth, laser scalpel sticking straight out of his optic. The energon had run as hot as Overlord's charge, dripping from his lips like lecherous words even though his actual words had been mildly spoken.
The Autobot had refused to back away. He'd shaken, optics wide and helm flanges vibrating, but his dear pet had stayed defiant as Overlord stood. Gentle words and compliments only meant that the pain would be worse. The murder attempt had already happened; backing down would do nothing but singe the warden's pride before Overlord himself extracted it one acid-burn apology at a time. That didn't mean Fort Max's knees hadn't weakened when Overlord stepped close to look down at him, and the Phase Sixer had seen every loose wobble.
The face caressed by the back of the warlord's fingers had been as expressionless as Fortress Maximus could force it, because the Autobot refused to give Overlord any more reactions than he absolutely had to. In return, Overlord found his stoic pseudo-surrender a gorgeous facade. Like all pretty things, he took a perverse sense of joy in shattering it to bare the ugly reality underneath.
Except what was underneath was never fully revealed, and that was glorious. Special. Unique. Fortress Maximus bent and bent, but he never quite broke. It was endlessly fascinating. Overlord hadn't been this obsessed with what a mech was made of since meeting Megatron.
He'd spent hours working over this Autobot's helpless body, staring deep into agonized optics as he searched for what it was about this one mech that made him capable of this. Capable of struggling long after hope should have been burnt out. What made this Autobot capable of shrieking apologies and abjectly begging for mercy one moment, then attempting to kill him the next, even knowing that the attempt would only make the pain worse? There had been hours of amusement, bemusement, even frustrated anger as he dug further into Fortress Maximus only to feel the mech slip somehow away.
No, this pet would not lose his interest. Not the way all his past pets had as he'd discarded their broken shells. There had been nothing left in them to entertain him but their deaths, but they had been nothing compared to Fortress Maximus. Despite every indignity and pain, this Autobot still had enough sense of self to gag on defeat. That astounding will bent and rebounded, but didn't break.
A snap of his fingers, and his pet visibly winced. The lowered helm turned gradually until one cracked optic could look up at the huge mech sitting there watching him. The Phase Sixer sat up, uncrossing his legs, and the wince became cringing. The warden seemed to be trying to hide beneath his back-mounted treads, well beyond the point where logic or dignity would object to such foolishness. One hand pointed to the floor at massive feet, however, and Fortress Maximus' throat tubing worked in an anxious swallow. Overlord honestly could not tell if the Autobot were scraping up the courage to obey or defy him. The unknown factor made this so exciting.
He was vaguely disappointed when the injured mech only pulled himself across the floor to kneel at his feet. Ah, well. It had been two days.
Fort Max bowed over his knees to press first his split lips, then his forehelm to Overlord's feet, right and left. The kisses and subservient touches left stains, and that deliciously involuntary wince happened again when the Autobot saw them. The black helm jerked in place, as if the mech had stepped on the urge to check if the smears had been noticed. Of course they had been noticed. The oily rag clutched in one hand lifted but slowly lowered again. The thing was useless. There was only one solution.
Overlord leaned back in the chair and smiled faintly as his pet hesitated just a second longer before bending again. A glossa reluctantly bathed his feet, polishing them clean in long swipes. Ah, now that was entertaining enough when commanded, but it was positively lovely when done of Fortress Maximus' own initiative. The warden finished by hanging his head low, nearly to the floor between now-clean feet as he waited for orders. That was satisfying to see, and even more satisfying to feel as overheated air panted against the warlord's plating.
Dread sizzled through the Autobot's circuitry in a surge of tainted energy, and Overlord gloried in it as he used the edge of one foot to tip his pet's face up. "Enough," the warlord said. He studied the blank optics that seemed to look right through him and frowned. "What should I do with you?" He shook his head gravely, putting a hand up to his chin as if to contemplate the puzzle that was his problematic captive. "Your undisciplined behavior vexes me, Maxy."
He paused artfully, and two days of torture made his pet take the cue as intended. "I'm sorry," was muttered thickly. "I'll do better."
"Will you? I confess myself doubtful of that promise."
"Please," the warden said dully, past noticing or caring how his intakes coughed fluids with every syllable. One optic flickered erratically. "I can be good. Please let me try."
Obviously, Fortress Maximus had reached the point of withdrawing to a safe place inside himself. He was bending because it was what would stop the torture. It was what Overlord wanted, and he'd bend any way Overlord demanded right now. The inner core of him, however, had retreated behind the high, stubborn walls of continued rebellion.
Hatred and defiance lurked behind the bleak mask Fort Max showed his tormentor. Meek compliance covered its opposite. Overlord looked into his optics and laughed quietly, because there was fear there, too. If nothing else had been learned in their time together, the warlord had taught his pet that no place was safe. The Autobot had withdrawn, but he knew that Overlord wouldn't let him hide forever. His tormentor thoroughly enjoyed picking apart that mental stronghold at the seams.
"No," the Phase Sixer decided, and he smiled at the lightning-quick crackle of terror that flared throughout the warden's body. Resignation to the inevitable still had its weak spots, one of which was to make the inevitable more horrible than anticipated. "No, I don't believe you. Perhaps it's time I found a port and pursued an alternative method of punishment. A change in the training regime might be what you've been asking for with your antics." His voice silkily seeped under the door of Fort Max's fortified haven, conjuring the threat in vivid detail where it couldn't be blocked out. Overlord could see how the idea caught behind the Autobot's optics, impossible to ignore. "A few weeks' time as a barrack's plaything may make you more inclined to be grateful for what I allow you. How much rest do you think a full garrison will permit you?" His powerplant rumbled as he himself imagined it. He'd seen the Autobot humbled under other mechs before, but rarely had he left the primary work of causing real, degrading pain to them. "You know so many amusing tricks. How long do you think you'll last before you're willing to perform them all just to be granted enough chain to sit up straight?"
Another swallow worked Fort Max's throat. Overlord could feel it against the tip of his foot. It turned his thoughts darker yet as an alternative idea struck. "No, perhaps not. Such a disobedient pet doesn't deserve chains. Chains are too much of a privilege." He moved his foot from side to side, turning his pet's head this way and that to study him from different angles. "I should walk you into the first bar we come across and weld your knees to the floor. I'm sure the proprietor will be thrilled by the addition to the decor. I might return for you after you make me a certain percentage of the - how shall I phrase it? Predictable proceedings."
A shiver of fear got past Fortress Maximus' controlled facial expression. Overlord cocked his head to the side, rolling the thought around his head as he watched his pet try not to imagine everything he said. The nearest station wouldn't do, but the outpost at the edge of this sector housed a particularly rowdy garrison who appreciated Overlord's patronage for the entertainment value. It wouldn't be the first time he'd lent a Decepticon or four there his pet for an hour of pleasure. They had experience with prisoners because of the outlying position of their outpost. They also had a taste for riding danger. The risk of retaliation from tormenting an untamed Autobot powerhouse only made them more eager to take everything they could from him.
The first time Overlord had handed over his pet's leash, Fort Max had fought. Of course he'd fought. The warden had torn a swathe through the barracks before Overlord had pinned him down again. The off-duty Decepticons in the outpost had considered the following discipline to be the height of educational entertainment, especially when Fort Max had begun whimpering, then howling for the chance to apologize. Which he had, individually and at length, on his knees before the Decepticons he'd tried to kill only hours earlier.
It was what had given the warlord this idea in the first place. Fort Max loathed crawling for him, but groveling for the amusement of a crowd had resulted in sullen obedience the next time Overlord let him be borrowed. Letting the Autobot's victims have their way with him until they'd been satisfied had taught the warden the value of choosing with whom he battled. Fortress Maximus went blank-opticked and doll-stiff, but he did as he was told.
Abandoning the warden to abuse from an entire base wouldn't break him anymore than letting Garrus-9 have a turn with him had, but it would make him bend. He would bend, and he would feel himself bend, and his helpless compliance was always a pleasure to watch.
The bar idea appealed to Overlord for that. The fact that he could sit idly by while others did the work for him did have its perks. Being a voyeur was indeed one of the Phase Sixer's quirks, and not one he normally prioritized above hands-on involvement. It could be relaxing to watch his pet be violated endlessly. That was the advantage of numbers, after all: when one mech had other responsibilities, someone else could step in and take over. Overlord was only one mech. While having time between lessons let them settle in, it also allowed Fort Max to recuperate somewhat. Welded to the filthy floor of a small, hole-in-the-wall bar would reduce the Autobot to a fixture. He'd be used as a frag-toy and piece of furniture by literally hundreds of mechs until even Fortress Maximus' stolid refusal to show weakness cracked under exhaustion.
"Too much personal attention," Overlord said aloud, gazing off toward the small bridge of the shuttle as if already plotting course toward the outpost. "I do believe you feel yourself too important, Maxy. You think yourself above servitude because I have spent so much of my time on you. Lavished it on you, really, and I don't think you appreciate what it is I've spared you from. You don't acknowledge how I've concentrated upon you when I could have thrown you to the masses. Do you remember Garrus-9? Hmm?" A numb sort of horror sheeted off the warden's circuitry in washes of terror-fueled electromagnetic energy. Oh yes, Fort Max remembered. "Do you remember the sea of hands that reached to meet you as you fell? How it felt to be an object in those hands? Every prisoner there had reason to hate you, treat you as something more than you are. In this sector of the quadrant, however, you are merely chattel. A body with a red brand, here to be used for pain and pleasure before being discarded as the worthless waste of metal you are."
He looked down at his pet, smiling benignly. "You are nothing here but property. My property, but property nonetheless. Ungrateful property, to not show how you appreciate me taking you for myself." The smile became a mocking frown. "It's the only thing I can assume, based on your continued disobedience. Very well. If you do not want to serve me, then I will allow you to serve others. Perhaps a few months welded down as a public service will provide motivation for proper behavior in the future."
The hand not holding the soiled rag slid across the floor to cup the heel of the foot holding Fortress Maximus' face up. The Autobot turned his head to the side and downward in order to nuzzle it. His optics dimmed. "No. Don't," was whispered against the metal, and the warden's lips felt slick from their coating of lubricant and fuel. "I'll do better."
"You do not tell me what to do." Overlord flexed his foot, narrowing his optics in enjoyment of the way his pet chased after it.
The soft scrape of metal accompanied more of the obsequious kisses Fort Max had struggled so long against giving. Now the Autobot showered them on the Phase Sixer's foot because he knew they pleased the massive mech. Right now he had to bend. He had to. Overlord knew he did, just as he knew what his pet was doing, and every submissive kiss lit a bloom of warmth across his plating. They were meant to appease him, but they were merely amusing him.
The warden felt it and flinched, but he mouthed the tip of Overlord's foot anyway. When his lips slid free, Fortress Maximus turned his head and rubbed his cheek against the metal. His head turned the other way, and he nudged his nose against it next. "Please," he said, flat voice strained. "Please, I'm…grateful. To be your - your pet." Those words should have been the bitterest the warden had ever spoken, but there had been more awful things he'd been forced to say. That didn't mean they didn't score him deeper than any whip with the shame of it.
Overlord listened to the tell-tale pauses and flexed his foot again as if thinking. Fort Max ducked his head further, bowing beneath the foot to flick his glossa in tiny licks up from the heel. "Please…let me…serve you," the Autobot said between licks. "I'll be…good. I…swear it. I'll be…obedient. Please…I'm sorry." He reached the tip of the foot and gave it a lingering kiss before raising his head enough to look up at the warlord. "Please forgive me."
There was the crack in his pet's resolve he'd been waiting for. Fortress Maximus had learned to beg early on, but as Overlord looked down at him, there was a sincerity there that couldn't be trained in. That was desperation. His pet truly wished to avoid the bar scenario.
The huge Phase Sixer folded his arms slowly, lounging in his chair. He contemplated the Autobot trying to placate him.
The long pause filled with the harsh undertones of stressed systems and the liquid drip of leaks. Fort Max cringed before him, doubled over on his knees. He'd only dared to lift his head, and now he didn't dare look away. Overlord waited, watching. The silence would wear on the warden, he knew. His pet was trying to predict how he wanted the Autobot to bend, and Overlord didn't intend to give away any clues. It was always more interesting seeing how far the mech bent himself.
Eventually, the warden's optics glanced slightly to the side. It was just a nervous look, darting away from Overlord's face for less than a second, but it betrayed his thoughts. Still looking up at him, wary and reluctant, Fort Max leaned forward and tilted his head just a bit. Just enough to softly kiss a transformation seam on the warlord's lower leg. The small point of contact tingled as the Autobot tried to make an offer through a subtly suggestive push of charge.
"Oh-ho, now what have you done to be allowed that?" Overlord scoffed. The question had no other purpose than to make Fortress Maximus look away suddenly, optics down as the mocking words stung him.
Overlord waited until his pet wrestled his expression back to neutral and looked up again. "What makes you think I'd allow a disobedient, degenerate Autobot slave like you to touch me?" He leaned down, catching Fort Max's chin and making him stay still despite a delightfully instinctual wince away. Denial of this offer had not been what his pet had expected at all. He could nearly feel how shock smashed through every painstakingly-constructed barrier the mech had put up to prepare for following through. The Autobot's shaking picked up. "Give me a reason I should forgive you," the Phase Sixer demanded.
For a moment, fluid-coated lips moved soundlessly. Fortress Maximus' optics were so very wide from this close, and Overlord's hand clamped down hard on his pet's chin to prevent him from scrambling backward.
A low noise finally squeaked from a strained vocalizer, and the warlord cocked his head as if to better listen. "Pardon? What was that?"
He heard the Autobot reset his vocalizer. "I'll make it good," was forced out in a rusty voice. "Please. You know I can."
Overlord sneered, curling his lip up. He loved how the optics he stared into flashed down to his mouth and filled with terror. Offer rejected. Threat still valid. "I know exactly how 'good' you can be, and it's hardly worth wasting my time. Try again!"
The order came out like a whip-crack, and Fort Max twitched as he tried to flinch but was held in place. "I-I…I…" He blinked, tried to look away, and only succeeded in miserably squirming in the warlord's tight grip. An expression of revulsion broke through his mask-like expression for a second, but then he was lunging into the hand on his chin.
Lashing out was somewhat expected, but Overlord felt rather smug at just how his pet did so this time. He'd taught this untamed Autobot well. The mech was hardly docile, but he was biddable enough under pressure. Trying to struggle loose would only worsen the punishment. It was either the two days of torture preceding this, or the prospect of the upcoming ordeal. The warlord would have to keep both in mind. Fortress Maximus bent marvelously under the threat, whichever it was.
The kiss itself wasn't a particularly good kiss in terms of skill, but the taste of ruptured lubricant lines and utter humiliation made it quite nice overall. Fort Max offlined his optics, possibly to help endure the nauseating sense of shame welling at the back of his mouth like purged fuel. Overlord could taste its acidic burn. The warlord chuckled into the kiss and angled his head but otherwise made no move to encourage or dissuade his pet.
Who gagged on fear and thrust his glossa into Overlord's mouth. It lapped hesitantly at his own, trying to coax the Phase Sixer out of passive acceptance and into taking control. The Autobot was willing to bend. He'd reached the point where obedience to the warlord's whims was better than resistance. He just needed to know what was demanded of him!
Instead of taking over the kiss, Overlord sat up. Their mouths parted, leaving Fort Max gaping after him and panting as his injured body tried to dump repair-heat and terror. His hands, disjointed fingers and all, were clutching at the Phase Sixer's lower legs as if to stabilize himself. Their tight grasp held the desperation his blank face didn't.
The Autobot was nearly in Overlord's lap by now, and the warlord looked down at him with a distinctly cool expression. "If you're trying to show your appreciation for everything I've done for you, you are falling far short of the mark."
Fortress Maximus swallowed hard, one optic still flickering and body pained. Two days of torture was getting off light compared to what his tormentor had put him through previously. Overlord didn't make idle threats. Two days of agony would seem merciful if the warlord followed through on his threat, and Overlord found the idea more appealing by the minute. The crude brutality most Decepticons turned on their victims would seem refreshingly simple to endure at first, but the sheer length of time would have the Autobot pleading to be taken back in a month. If not, well, Overlord could always find ways to make straightforward physical violation much more…damaging.
All of which his pet knew. What appeared like a horrible but potential escape from underneath Overlord's heel was just another torture tool in the warlord's never-ending arsenal. He was the personal slave to a possessive sadist. There could be no escape. There were only attempts to earn a temporary reprieve.
"What can I do?" the Autobot asked hoarsely, unable to stop the fear from roughening his voice. "Please. Just tell me, and I'll do it." It was either bend, cave in and give Overlord whatever he wanted, or Fort Max would completely break. The Phase Sixer could feel uneven trickles of energy from the hands clutching his legs that betrayed how close to the edge his pet had been pushed. His own gloating pleasure radiated back. The hands on his legs let go as if burnt, but the kneeling mech couldn't stop the way their electromagnetic fields mingled with each other.
Overlord looked at him, letting his smug triumph truly sink in. "I do wonder what you would say were I to question you about Aequitas now," he mused, and an undisguised expression of stark horror twisted the warden's face. Fort Max stammered, stricken, shaking his head in despair and refusal so fast he nearly fell over backward with the force of it. Metal squealed as he lost his balance and had to awkwardly half-turn to brace a hand against the floor. He spat a burst of static and fuel, too alarmed to stop himself, and Overlord threw his head back to roar with laughter.
Yes, Fortress Maximus was special. This pet, Overlord thought he just might keep for a very, very long time. He enjoyed this Autobot far too much to give the final blow. He would make this mech drink servitude down until it finally flooded his stubbornly strong will and drowned it. And when the submission spilled from his hollow body in an uninterrupted flow, then the Phase Sixer would stand back and wait for that hidden flame to rekindle. He had no doubt that it would. Even now, on his knees and groveling, Overlord fancied he could feel Fort Max's mind racing for a way to turn the situation around on him.
Not a worthy opponent on the battlefield, but a challenge to defeat nonetheless. The Phase Sixer could not be happier with what Garrus-9 had given him. Aequitas had been a goal to try and claim, but the warden was the real prize. The Wreckers might have been a decent fight had he stayed, but Overlord wasn't one for regrets. He'd left, and he'd gotten a truly entertaining pet out of it. That was enough to satisfy him until Megatron gave him the battle he craved.
In the meantime, Overlord would continue to amuse himself.
Still laughing, he let a gun hatch on his torso flip open. Fortress Maximus' panicked stuttering stopped dead. The Autobot now kneeling sidelong between his legs went stiff as the guns snapped down. Red optics cautiously watched them, but not because his pet feared being blasted. The object dangling from a thin chain wrapped around one barrel had the Autobot silent and still. The trembling of black helm flanges grew more obvious as Overlord casually unhooked the keycard and held it up between two fingers. His pet's ventilation system stalled audibly.
"Why don't you demonstrate your appreciation for my attention," the Phase Sixer said when he finished laughing. His lips curved in a nasty smile. "You decide what we shall play together next. Perhaps if I found my toy to be more pleasing, I'd be less inclined to be, ah, generous toward those I decided to share him with. Would you like me to be more selfish, Maxy?"
The Autobot's optics were mesmerized as they followed the keycard. The hint of possible mercy inspired as much disgust as painful hope. "…yes. I - yes."
Overlord tossed it to the ground. "Go."
Red optics followed the small keycard, and Fort Max started to move after it. He hesitated, however, unable to turn back but too afraid to turn completely away. The fear filling his body washed back and forth between the warlord's legs like an electric circuit of building terror. Overlord watched, propping his elbow on the table at his side and smirking as his pet shook and tried to resolve some inner conflict. The black helm bowed a bit, almost touching the Overlord's inner thigh, and the Autobot stared down at the mangled hands held in his lap. They clenched slowly, bleeding fuel as fragile self-repair clots split open.
When Fortress Maximus moved, it was to bend down and touch first his lips, then his forehelm to Overlord's foot. Just as a well-trained, properly grateful, and ever-obedient slave should. The words came out strangled into a whisper: "Thank you."
The Phase Sixer's powerplant rumbled, and his smirk widened. He didn't need to speak. Voluntary surrender was degrading enough for his poor pet.
The Autobot rearranged himself between Overlord's legs and repeated the small ritual of supplication and appeasement on the other foot. The tiny, humiliated whisper came again, and then he finally went after the keycard. He didn't try to rise to his feet. Even if that wasn't his place without permission, Overlord had sliced out part of the hydraulic system in his legs. The warden could walk, but he couldn't stand without using something to haul himself up. The Phase Sixer was still debating whether or not to have the hydraulics fixed later. He thought his point had been made about where his pet belonged, but physical restraint did seem to keep the mech down longer.
Fort Max crawled out of what had been the shuttle's cargo bay toward what had been an armory before Overlord changed the small transport spacecraft to suit his own needs. Now the cargo bay was half a work area, which meant it resembled any office except for the rings set into the floor by the table and the chains hanging from the ceiling. The armory was mostly empty but for the locked tool rack he had just sent his pet to peruse. Overlord wondered what his pet would bring him.
He'd just about made up his mind about the bar idea. It was a matter of choosing the correct location and deciding on the amount of time. The time would depend on what exactly Fortress Maximus brought him to pay penance with, and how low the Autobot cast himself under his feet. The location, on the other hand, could be decided now.
Using the remote console pad on the table, he brought up the outpost's comm. frequency and pinged the non-essentials channel for an entertainment listing. An information packet came back within a couple of minutes. It included the local vidshow broadcast schedule, a notice for an unofficial hand-to-hand tournament, and advertisements for various locations of interests.
The vidshow schedule was discarded immediately. The tournament got a brief read-through, and he put it aside to address later. Perhaps he should add his own touch to the local fight club. There were always takers when he put out challenges, at least for the first few rounds before word got out about how he didn't pull his punches. It could be something to do while it lasted, in any case.
It was the advertisements he wanted. He browsed the ads, looking at the pictures and drink menus closely for what they combined to say about what the bars were really like. A bar with a pristine picture and rock-bottom prices meant the reality was far different than the picture. He was looking for a specific kind of bar: grungy, run-down, with clientele who were there because of bad moods instead of for socializing or good quality engex. A bar like that would have a proprietor greedy for as much money as could be squeezed from any opportunity that walked in, especially if it were installed on the floor and gifted to him for a set time. Once the money started to pour in, Overlord would easily be able to 'suggest' some changes to the bar to make it more comfortable for his own use. By the time he left, the bar owner would owe him and be happy about it, making a nice place to relax anytime he docked at that outpost.
He'd narrowed his choices down to two places by the time the Autobot returned. Overlord had his back to the door, comparing the two locations up on the screen on the wall. Both pictures looked like someone had cleared away the broken glasses and mopped the spillage at the end of the night before calling it good enough. He found the honesty inspirational. He could almost see his pet featured amidst the squalor in advertisements like these.
The sound of limping footsteps didn't make him turn. Instead, he merely beckoned with one hand lazily. "Come here, my dear. It's only fair I have your opinion on where you're welded down. You're the one who will, hmm. Become intimately acquainted with the surroundings, I suppose one might say."
The footsteps faltered. "But I…" A quiet sound that might have been further protest being gulped back came from behind the warlord, and suddenly there was a hurried rush of limping steps. Overlord's lips quirked, but he didn't look back. Oh, he hoped Fort Max was trying to attack him. He did so enjoy reminding his pet how easily subdued the Autobot could be. Physically dominating the warden ground that lovely sense of hopelessness in a little deeper every time.
Deep enough to have stuck today, it seemed. Instead of attacking, Fortress Maximus fell to his knees at Overlord's side and pushed a complicated device into the Phase Sixer's lap. "Please don't do this," he said, voice level but laced with white noise. "Forgive me, please. I regret my…ungrateful behavior. I will do better." The words sounded as if he were reading them off a script. He'd probably composed and rehearsed his begging during the short period he'd been out of the room. He might have seemed unaffected by what he was saying if not for the way his hands shook as he braced them against one huge thigh to plead. "I'll improve my attitude. I'll show my appreciation for your - " the pause was short but still there, and Overlord smiled to hear it, " - your ownership. I can be, will be a good pet. Just let me serve." The warlord chuffed air, amused at the hitches that couldn't be ironed out of the monologue, and Fort Max winced. "Please."
Overlord snorted in derision. They both knew that the promises of good behavior would only last until the pain receded or there were better odds of success. Still, the Autobot's desperation was real enough. For the moment, at least, fear made the words sincere. The Phase Sixer graciously decided to at least consider the plea. His pet relaxed just slightly when the big hands that could do so much worse than pain opened, accepting the device.
Ahhh. Now, this? This, he had not expected. The spindly arms of the chamber-skeleton clattered over his legs as he lifted it to inspect for sabotage - and just to watch how his pet's optics followed it. Overlord's fingers stroked the control dials and clamps as if greeting an old lover, and the fixated optics filled with a haunted sort of resignation. This had been locked away in the tool rack for quite some time.
That'd been the agreement, after Fortress Maximus finally accepted it as a substitute for his tattered fellow Autobots back in Garrus-9. The warden had willingly offered his mouth to spare theirs back then, but that leverage had been lost when Overlord dragged him away from the penitentiary. The warlord had used this as an alternative, however. It worked well as an incentive to cooperate. His pet's total compliance after a few sessions with this device had tempted Overlord to use it more, but he tended to keep his word when the results were in his favor. Having Fort Max's talented mouth at his disposal at any time had been worth putting this away on the rack.
Until now, it seemed. Apparently his pet really didn't want to be welded down as a public frag-toy. The device he'd brought was meant to be penance. That was…charming. Overlord smiled, and it wasn't mockery. Being surprised by this mech after everything Overlord had put him through made something almost like affection bloom across his systems. Some Decepticons found the antics of turbofoxes cute; Overlord found Fort Max's unexpected choice of torture just as adorable. It was strangely cute, and it was also a turn-on.
The warden felt the hot scour of arousal rake down his front where he pressed against the side of Overlord's leg, and the Phase Sixer saw how he fought not to flinch back. He looked up at his tormentor, face blank. Overlord set the chamber-skeleton down on the table and curled a finger under his pet's chin, giving him his full attention. A thumb ran across dented lips. They parted instantly to take it in.
Fortress Maximus turned his optics off and dipped his head, concentrating on that thumb. His denta set gently on the sides. Split lips closed around it. Overlord dimmed his own optics and allowed himself to enjoy the slow, familiar feel of a slick glossa exploring the friction pad of his thumb. The tip of his pet's glossa traced back and forth over it, drawing suggestive spirals. The denta closed, scraping over the surface with just enough force to register as Fort Max pursed his lips a bit to keep the thumb enveloped in his hot mouth. Those lips pushed the thumb out just enough to slide off in a sucking kiss before opening to take it back in. He suckled, letting suction put more pressure on the sensor nodes he'd already teased to attention.
The thumb turned, poking in, and it was gratifying how the Autobot's glossa gave way before it. The mech parted his denta and sucked harder, pulling on its length in long, hard pulls. The hands that had been on Overlord's thigh rose to set the fingertips against the Phase Sixer's wrist, gently guiding it. Fort Max worked that thumb in and out, lips busily massaging and denta just barely scraping. His glossa gave way and made room, welcoming in a way the mech's circuitry denied. Overlord felt the queasy, forced submission in how their EM fields met.
His own greedily oozed over the fitful sputter of the kneeling mech's. He sat at his ease in the chair, but even the energy bleeding off his circuits tried to consume his pet. He moved nothing but one hand, and Fortress Maximus submitted in every way before it.
"Is my pet sorry?" the warlord murmured, saccharine sweet.
Red optics lit. One focused intently on Overlord's face, trying to read his expression. The other was still flickering erratically as self-repair worked on it. "Yes," was spoken around the warlord's thumb. The words were clear despite the obstruction, but said in a dull and lifeless voice. "I am. I'm sorry. Please, let me make up for my mistake." The hands on Overlord's wrist pulled it back until the thumb popped out of Fort Max's mouth. It got a kiss on automatic. There was a flash of disgust when the Autobot realized what he'd done, and Overlord smirked. Not so lifeless, then.
The disgust disappeared as quickly as it'd appeared, walled off, and his pet ducked his head. Damaged hydraulics whirred, but the kneeling mech braced his hands against Overlord's thigh to push himself up enough to bend forward over it. The Phase Sixer's powerplant gave a pleased rumble when that black helm bent into his lap. The rumbling increased when the latches for his interface equipment were nibbled. Oh, Fortress Maximus knew how to tempt him. The Autobot could get his engines going when sufficiently motivated. The sight of his pet's helm making those short, repetitive motions was nice, but the warmth of lubricant dripping from an injured mouth onto his plating made his interfacing systems fire online.
Dread and sickened fear filled his lap as the Autobot shuffled around until he knelt once more between Overlord's legs. Fort Max tried not to show it, but tension sent telltale crackles of energy over his body. Overlord felt the vibration of too-taut cables against his thighs and let his amusement soak his pet in response. The black helm hesitated but returned to its proper place over his pelvic span, attending to duties more often avoided or refused than attended with any sort of enthusiasm. Not so now. Now, there were dislocated fingers trying to caress his inner thighs and seduce him. That well-trained glossa laved carefully over every sensitive seam, coaxing the warlord to retract the panel. It swirled tiny patterns and swiped broadly over the panel, promising good behavior and a better frag.
The bar pictures were still on the console's wall screen. Overlord looked from them to the head working between his legs as if judging which was the best option. Even though the Autobot didn't look up, the close clamp of his armor gave away that he remained very well aware of the threat hanging over him.
Fortress Maximus had to turn his head at an angle to fit his helm down between the Phase Sixer's thighs. He scattered kisses downward, finding the panel's lower edge and giving it its due in encouraging licks and nuzzles. There wasn't much the Autobot could do with the panel closed but try to invoke sensor-memories of just how well he could use his mouth when it wasn't shouting defiance during a beating. And he could use it well, there was no denying that.
The hot vent of air against the panel made Overlord relent at last, uncovering his equipment but not extending it. Let his pet work for that.
It took a while. Fort Max burrowed his face into his tormentor's lap, wedging his glossa into the narrow gap where Overlord's screw went into the sleeve. He licked there, pampering the recessed tip with the slick slide of his glossa and the heated air he blew onto it. Lubricant from his injured mouth dripped down, greasing the mechanism. The anxious waves of electromagnetic energy crashing against the warlord's calm EM field intensified when the screw remained in the sleeve. They both knew that the Autobot in no way actually wanted to be used by him, but right now? Right now the warden needed to please him, and this was his default method. The fact that it wasn't working as planned had the Autobot as worried as what would happen if it did.
It was a lose-lose situation. The warden would lose if he were publicly punished; he would lose if it were done in private.
Overlord's screw was uniquely designed. He'd had it restructured from a standard screw for his frametype into something resembling the inner core of an industrial burr grinder. As Fortress Maximus was personally far too aware of, there was no comfortable way to accommodate that. The warlord's interfacing equipment was meant to file down the inner threads of whomever Overlord took. Coarse grinder blades that lined his threads. Every turn of that terrible screw didn't just lock and unlock with his victim's inner threads; they shaved off metal and sensor threads in slow, agonizing layers that hurt all the more when the circuit completed. Screwing turned energy transmission into a searing exercise of burning out already ultra-responsive equipment.
Fortress Maximus did not want that screw inside him again. His tap was a never-ending seethe of self-repair nanites continually building up stripped threads only for them to be ground down again. It wasn't a pain anyone could adjust to. He didn't want it, and he knew Overlord knew he didn't want it, and Overlord smiled because they both knew that the Autobot would spread his thighs and beg for it at this point. The warden would make it good, too. Overlord could drag it out for a long time just to hear his pet try to keep the pained groans and cries muffled while still asking in halfway-convincing manner for harder, faster, screw him deeper, force it in and make that too-small tap fit.
The temptation to indulge himself was there. Overlord stroked a hand over his pet's helm and thought about ordering him down onto all fours. There was something extremely pleasurable about mounting the smaller mech from behind. Maybe it was the way their size difference meant he could lift the warden's knees off the floor just by impaling him fully and angling his hips up. The screw threads would lock him in, and it'd be impossible for Fort Max to slip free without being torn apart. The Autobot made such lovely little hushed noises when held like that. He bit his bottom lip and struggled to mute his vocalizer as gravity brought his weight down on the rasping slice of every screw turn. He couldn't help but hold onto whatever part of the warlord he could reach to prop himself up off the worst of the in-and-out spiraling grind. For all his efforts, the metal would shriek as grated metal shavings pattered down on Overlord's thighs.
There were other variations on the position, however. There were times the Autobot needed no prompting. If he were too worn to endure degrading orders, the warden just gave up on preserving any sort of dignity and crouched like a technimal, and Overlord laughed every time at the spectacle. Seeing his pet behave as a real pet was always entertaining. The warden would lower himself to his elbows and cant his hips, presenting his tap for use. It was debatable whether that position was less painful overall, but Overlord found it just as satisfying. He could use Fort Max's battered treads as handholds. That was always amusing. Sometimes he cut the treads loose from their wheels and wrapped them around his hands to use as reins, forcing his pet to move with him as he rode the mech in an inexorable, cruelly slow rhythm that couldn't be escaped. The treads would jerk as he drilled steadily into the Autobot's incompatible tap.
The first damp squelch of a ruptured fuel micro-filament line as inner threads tore completely away, mmm. Yes. He'd overloaded more than once to that sensation, and felt his pet's ventilation system seize up under him as the snapping jolt of energy transmitted directly through damaged nodes into the mech's main sensor network. It ignited a heightened sense of power better than any mere climax every time.
Stifled sounds of pain under him and vital fluids lubricating his screw? Just remembering it brought his screw slowly turning out of its sleeve, thick and abrasive.
Fort Max's head angled more, suddenly making those little repetitive motions with more urgency. Overlord's vents sighed, and his powerplant purred contentedly. The Phase Sixer let his head fall back and optics dim as he savored the fervent attention. The progress his pet had made was best reflected by how the mech practiced what he'd been taught, one tortured lesson at a time. Broken, no, but the Autobot had bent.
Cyberkitten licks along the sharpened crests rewarded every turn, coaxing it upward as gentle nips and sucking kisses pressed along the sides. A mouth hot with self-repair work settled over the tip and suckled, trying to draw it out further. Overlord grunted quietly, taking ahold of his interfacing equipment commands and retracting his screw slightly before letting it turn out again. The screw spiraled in and out, in and out. Every half-turn back and forth rasped the crests over Fort Max's glossa, cutting into the sides of his mouth, but the mech didn't even pause. That dutiful mouth closed around the grinding motion, and his pet let himself be used however Overlord wished. The splits on the humbled Autobot's lips opened again, and energon dripped in messy runnels down the channels of the screw.
Eventually, Overlord extended fully. His pet was nearly in his lap by then, the remaining four undamaged fingers massaging the base of his screw. Cautious optics peered up from under a black helm as the warden watched him for a reaction. Fortress Maximus didn't know what the Phase Sixer wanted next, and wariness filled his one good optic as he waited for instructions.
Overlord looked to the side, and his pet winced. Not that it was unexpected, but the warlord still smiled at the fear when he lifted the chamber-skeleton off the table. The spindly arms rattled, and Fort Max's helm flanges shook briefly as if in sympathy.
The warden looked down, away from the torture device soon to be used upon him. Two sounds came nearly simultaneously: the soft click of an interface panel unlatching, and the louder clack of the Autobot's central chest panel unlocking.
Overlord's lips curved richly in gloating triumph as the fingers left his screw. They went instead to the unlocked panel. For a moment, Fort Max's hands hovered defensively over the thick armor, almost as if he were trying to protect the red insignia still branded there. The warden visibly steeled himself to grab the top edge and pull it open. It swung down on the bottom hinges, exposing his internal workings, and his maimed hands clumsily snapped open the latches for the two side panels. When he pulled them apart, it exposed the inside of his entire chest to his tormentor.
He dropped his hands to his sides and bowed his head, submitting.
Overlord's smile never changed. His powerplant thrummed approval of what he saw, however. The massive hand not holding the chamber-skeleton reached out and stroked over the reinforced block in the center of his pet's inner systems. No light escaped from the tightly-shut overlapping armor petals covering that chamber. Not yet, anyway.
"This would be much easier on you if you opened up yourself," he remarked, tapping on the last defensive measure standing between his pet's spark and his finger. There was a low squeak of metal as Fort Max gritted his denta. The spark chamber's protective layers stayed stubbornly closed. Overlord hadn't expected an answer, really. The comment had been merely to rub rust into the Autobot's sense of helpless despair. It practically radiated from the spark under the shell Overlord fondled.
He hummed a cheery tune as he positioned the chamber-skeleton inside his pet's chest. Fort Max's ventilation system seemed to have stalled completely; the warden was breathing from his mouth in quick, short pants. Those hitched as the device's magnets attached to the top of his spark chamber with a heavy thump. The panting became a sort of hissed breath when Overlord gave the thing a testing tug that shook the whole chamber but didn't budge the skeleton.
Then came the magnets on the end of every arm, and even the panting stopped. Every magnet that clamped down got a twitch. Dislocated fingers creaked as Fortress Maximus' hands closed into fists at his sides. The Phase Sixer delicately attached an arm to every overlapping sheet of armor protecting his pet's spark, and the Autobot began to shake. Despair, hatred, and something worse glittered over Fort Max's internal systems in zapping flickers of electromagnetic energy. That crackle of excess charge was exactly what Overlord had wanted, however, and his pet couldn't stop it from building.
The last arm attached. Overlord made sure to knead his thumbs around the circumference of the spark chamber's access portal, firmly stroking the outer petals, and his pet's vents moaned as system overrides kicked in to switch them back on. Fort Max's fans were abruptly all spinning full-bore, trying to dump the heat that'd been amped up by the light touches to the Autobot's most intimate array.
He bent down to whisper by the shivering black helm. "Last chance, my dear pet. Open it yourself, or I'll do it for you."
The Autobot didn't respond. Shaking his head or speaking aloud would be defiance and could be punishable as such. He just kept his optics downcast and his mouth shut. The hands on his spark chamber patted it like the cherished belonging it was.
"Very well. As you wish."
The chamber-skeleton's arms began to retract. Fortress Maximus held out as long as he could, but a vocalizer could only be muted so much. His first scream was a choked sound more static than anything as metal peeled back. The petal hinge squealed louder. The second petal peeled back to the sound of a real scream, however, and the third exposed sparklight to the huge Phase Sixer sitting there watching the show. The magnets clamped on the armored chamber panels vibrated as the chamber-skeleton pushed more power into its arms, and the Autobot threw his head back, optics blazing and jaw clenched on something that wasn't quite a scream any longer. The arms were strong enough to peel the overlapping layers back one by one, and the magnets pulsed over circuitry keyed to register even the slightest contact from energy or touch.
This was why his pet would do almost anything to avoid this particular device. Overlord sat there and smiled, enjoying how the warden shook down to the struts and utterly failed to suppress shuddery moans of utmost pleasure. He reached out to tease at the widening opening, and Fort Max whined pathetically behind gritted denta.
Such a useful device. There was so much that could be done once a mech's spark chamber was cracked open.
Overlord dipped his fingers into the half-open chamber, quickening the process as involuntary pleasure weakened the lockdown. His pet's ventilation systems sobbed large, ragged circulations of air in a desperate attempt to cool systems that were only beginning to warm. By the time Overlord finished with him, he intended the Autobot to be a limp, steaming pile of overheated limbs too exhausted to do more than lie at his feet and silently marinate in shameful memories.
If those proved too easy for his pet to block out, then Overlord would just have to sit his pet on his thigh and review the lesson as they watched the security camera's record of events. He might edit the highlights of this session into a nice packet for the local vidshow station to broadcast. He'd forward a copy to that green Wrecker, too, just to keep the Autobots in the loop. He did like the death threats the Wreckers kept sending back.
"What would your faction think of you now?" he murmured to his pet, stroking the ball of plasma quivering inside the chamber. It was being revealed, one armored petal at a time, and it squirmed about under his fingertips as if remembering what kind of agony he could inflict on it if he so chose. "I'm sure they would attempt to rescue you out of some misplaced sense of moral obligation, but you and I know the truth. Trying to save you would be a waste of lives and resources, because what's left of you to save?" His voice was kind. Kind, and as false as the soft, relentless touch of his fingers.
Fort Max arched and cried out. The blank mask cracked, showing a frantic, wild mech raped to the verge of an overload, and Overlord's free hand slid up to cup the back of his neck. Smirking lips pressed to the side of the Autobot's helm, and the poisoned words were stated so very reasonably. "There's nothing left of who you were but a used piece of shareware. Let them see you like this, let them see you as you truly are, and they'd leave you where you belong: here, with me. Unless, that is," he added, fingers spreading inside the spark chamber as the last protective petal peeled away, "they wanted to pass you around themselves. I suppose even Autobots have needs."
"N-nnnyaaaaaaaaah!"
If that had been meant to come out as a denial, it failed miserably. Shivery, garbled sounds escalated into a shout as Overlord's fingers closed, pinching the spark. The Autobot tipped into overload. The energy discharge jolted the warden with electric current and wrecked him with pleasure, and he gave an uncontrolled yell loud enough to cause vocalizer reset.
The Phase Sixer laughed heartily, not minding the snapping shock of charge on his palm in the least. He got to his feet and hauled the Autobot upright even as the overload finished ripping through his pet. Fortress Maximus thrashed in his hands, abused vocalizer clicking back online to give a long, low moan. It was a thoroughly debauched and undignified sound, but the Autobot was beyond caring as spark-deep pleasure suspended higher functions beneath undiluted bodily bliss. The sight was as gorgeous as ever, superimposed as it was over how his EM field sank under sick humiliation.
Fort Max's circuitry ached, transmitting self-loathing and hatred that Overlord smugly soaked in. The warden's optics bled loathing as he lifted his head to meet his tormentor's delighted look. That loathing dropped into a pit of horror and hatred when a single finger tickled the corona of his spark. No matter how unwilling his mind, the Autobot couldn't stop his body from heating up rapidly as fingers stroked him again.
"Beautiful," Overlord complimented, turning to sit him down in the chair. "Your spark is always so, mmm, responsive. I could easily believe you were forged for this." He loomed over his pet, one hand inside the warden's spark chamber. He gently squeezed the flashing, fitzing ball of plasma until it wrung a genuine whimper of need from his pet. "You'd make a fine berth-warmer for the grunt barracks. Take these off completely, perhaps," he tapped the splayed chamber petals, "and let the officers have you." He straightened to look at the console screen on the wall. "How much could one of these bars make off an auction? For the opportunity to play with an Autobot's spark for an hour? A night?" He considered the scenarios, hand on his chin as he thought. Strict supervision would be required to keep over-enthusiastic Decepticons from extinguishing the Autobot during interfacing, but the idea had merit.
Fort Max slumped on the chair, violated and horribly aroused by the handling of his spark. The ordeal was far from over, however, and he stared up at his tormentor when Overlord glanced down at him. It amused the warlord that his pet still tried to keep a stoic façade despite everything. The Autobot's spark fluttered brilliantly in its unprotected chamber, yet he still refused to show any expression. Fortress Maximus parted his thighs and offered himself on the edge of the chair, practically begging to be taken, but his mouth compressed to a grim line.
The warden likely thought he knew how this would go. Past sessions with the chamber-skeleton had focused on forcing his pet to squeal and jerk into every touch, especially those inside his pet's tap. Overlord could make his pet's screw respond, but taps were harder to coax into lighting up. Except, that was, when the spark was involved. Right now there were thread-thin traceries of lightning crawling around the open rim between Fort Max's thighs. The charge had amped up so high the warlord knew his pet would hunch over and clutch at his helm if he knelt to sample it. The taste of the warden's tap would be as delicious as his lack of control. It didn't matter what the Autobot actually wanted. At this point, Overlord could finger him in front of Optimus Prime, and all Fortress Maximus would probably do was turn his face away as he bucked into Overlord's hand.
With fingers playing inside his spark chamber, the warden became as uninhibited as a pleasurebot whose fee had just cleared.
Overlord leaned over him, bracing one huge hand on the chair back. He took his time winding his favorite toy up with the gentlest of caresses. Fort Max kept his legs spread, the offer ready and waiting, but turned his head away to hide his face. That didn't stop the sounds. The Phase Sixer cocked his head and listened, repeating the touches that earned soft whimpers and strained, badly-suppressed cries. Injured or not, his pet's body responded in lovely little writhing motions and shudders. It contrasted sharply against the aura of stubborn protest projecting off every rigidly-held limb.
Begging for it, but still refusing to give up. Bent, but not broken.
The warden was a magnificent mech. Truly out of the ordinary.
Overlord was never more turned on then when he destroyed something exceptionally special. "Hands behind you," he ordered. "Hold onto the chair."
Resigned, Fort Max put his hands back and obeyed the command. His hands were too damaged to close tightly, but they got a decent grip on the chair back near the seat. That pulled his arms back and arched his back struts slightly. It angled his hips perfectly for Overlord to simply kneel and take him in the chair.
It also left absolutely nothing to defend his chest. Not that he could with all the armor plating unlatched and opened, but the visceral feeling of vulnerability wasn't something that logic could affect. Overlord could feel the taint of fear seep through his pet's already fluctuating EM field as he bent forward, caging the Autobot into the chair.
That fear increased, stinging over Overlord's plating. Fort Max had noticed the Phase Sixer wasn't following the usual pattern. The unknown was cause for terror anyway, but now the Autobot took note of how Overlord was positioning himself. Wide optics glanced down at the massive legs pressed to the outside of his own, straddling him. It wasn't accidental how the warlord had stepped this close.
The chair had been made specifically for Overlord's frame. He was taller than his pet Autobot. That put Fort Max, sitting down, almost at the perfect height. Almost, but that was a fixable thing. Overlord put his hands on the warden's treads and pushed down. White outlined red optics as the frames widened too far. The Autobot slid down on the seat under the push, but his mouth shaped a disbelieving denial as he looked between his chest and the screw held before it.
"Objections, pet?"
Fortress Maximus delayed answering, opening and closing his mouth twice like he couldn't find words to speak with. He stared fixedly at the jagged edges of a screw meant to grind, meant to hurt. Overlord pushed his hips closer, and the Autobot shrank back in startled reflex. A swallow worked throat tubing, and not even the intense, liquid gush of aroused charge swirling around the warden's spark could make him stop trembling.
"No," he managed hoarsely. He looked as if he might say more, but then he pressed his lips into a thin line.
The hands on his treads pulled him back into position. He resisted for only a split second.
"Say it," Overlord ordered. His screw turned, rotating with a grating noise, and his hips gave a suggestive thrust forward. His pet jerked again and looked up, terror visible under a pitifully transparent mask of apathy. It was nice to know the warden had a strong sense of self-preservation after all this time. The will to live could be such a frail thing under torture.
The Autobot licked his lips. "I." He looked down at the screw poised to stab into his spark. When he looked up again, he'd wrestled his expression into a grimace. It covered his fear better than the attempt at non-expression, but it did nothing to hide how his spark spun frantically at the back of its chamber. "I want this," the warden forced out sullenly. The hands on his treads opened and drummed down one finger at a time. The screw gave a grinding turn for every finger. Fort Max averted his optics. "Please."
The Phase Sixer heaved an exaggerated sigh. "My patience is not infinite, Fortress Maximus."
He thought for a split second that it was too much. The Autobot's optics narrowed, and the grimace became a mulish glare to the side. Overlord's smile ticked up at the corners in anticipation, and the grating churn of his screw picked up. He lusted after that tantalizing hint of rebellion.
Dark hunger exploded in his gut, enflaming his very circuitry. The excess charge ran down his plating to drench the mech between his legs with perverse desire. Alarmed, Fort Max's head whipped around.
The warden stared up into his optics and cringed away from what he saw there. "I-I'm sorry. I'll be good. Please, I want to be used." The Autobot shifted uncomfortably, peeled open and exposed, and red optics darted from the hulking Phase Sixer to the screen just barely visible behind Overlord's mass. The reminder of what awaited him seemed to defeat Fort Max. "I want this," he said quietly, not quite whispering.
Overlord stayed silent, merely looking down at his captive. He let the dread build. This was a glorious power he held over his pretty pet, and he did so enjoy that moment of submission when the warden bowed before him.
At last, he trailed a hand down from one tread, over Fort Max's shoulder, and down into the open chest cavity. The Autobot shuddered. The quivering spark throbbed under Overlord's fingers, and he bent to tenderly kiss the side of the black helm despite how his pet flinched back. "Are you a good pet, Maxy?" he crooned. "A good pet would show his gratitude for being trained."
Overlord's syrupy comment had the subtlety of a whiplash. Vents hitching with bursts of hot air, the warden clenched his hands on the chair while his spark was teased back into roiling excitement. Fort Max gulped in air and gasped out, "Yes. I'm good p-pet. Thank you…f-for trainnning! mm…me."
"That's better," the warlord praised. "Such a good pet." The hand twirling stray bits of plasma around the fingers left Fortress Maximus' spark chamber and wrapped around his own screw. He guided it forward, grunting a bit with the pleasure of drilling against his palm. His other hand pulled on the Autobot's treads, bringing the mech's open chest to meet him. He pushed into the chamber slowly.
Fort Max gave a thin whine and lurched in the chair, straining to remain in place like an obedient slave. For once, Overlord didn't care. Watching the Autobot suffer was a secondary concern right now. Right this moment, his optics narrowed and he could only concentrate on the vent-stalling intensity of what he felt.
He should have done this a long time ago. Oh, he should have.
Pure energy rippled over the sensor-laden surface of his screw, conforming to every ridge and surface in a way that a tap never could. The only thing he could compare it to was thrusting directly into a mech's fuel pump while it still beat, but no. No, this was better. It kept going and going, responding in a way that mere machinery couldn't. This was the essence of his pet giving way before him, surrounding him, pleasuring him with every iota of energy in the Autobot's body. The Phase Sixer pressed into the spark, and it gave way before him.
Plasma spat out from the core in distress, bleeding out to the corona, but Overlord's screw turned. It turned, and caught the semi-solid streamers. They flickered and burnt, melting the thinnest blades, but the rough abrasives imbedded between the threads hooked the plasma. Bright sparklight spiraled up the screw one grinding turn at a time.
Fortress Maximus' whine became a shriek, but Overlord's loud groan of sadistic pleasure drowned out the high-pitched sound. Plasma caught and shredded, stretched over the warlord's specialized interface equipment as it dragged energy outward. The core of the spark spasmed, a strobe-light of pain in the back of its chamber. Hands abruptly shoved at his thighs, and Overlord laughed maniacally. He let his hips be pushed back only for his pet to realize just how bad an idea that really was. Fort Max screamed again, clinging to the warlord's thighs as desperately as he'd pushed them away, but it was too late.
The push had stretched the Autobot's spark out even further, even more painfully, and new torment juddered through the suffering mech as the Phase Sixer's screw reeled in the new slack. There was only so much pain a mech could take. Once his pet started screaming, he didn't seem to be able to stop.
Overlord's laughter became somewhat breathless as his fans blasted hot air, trying to cool him. He looked down at the helm tucked against his midriff and found it immensely hilarious. Fort Max was all but embracing him around the waist. The warden's EM field spiked terror and sheer agony, and the mech's processors were too stunned by it to realize just whom he was clinging to.
Overlord himself moaned appreciatively. The gelatinous fire winding up his screw stimulated every sensor, pulled further and further up the helix until the streamers tore apart in the threads. The shredded scraps of Fort Max's spark helplessly fluttered back to the main core, running down the sharp crests of the warlord's screw before melding back into the whole. Only to be snared again by the spinning pull as the screw kept twisting in the corona.
He pushed on his pet's treads, getting another piercing shriek in return. The warden scrambled to cling even closer, pushing his chamber forward. He impaled himself on the thick screw tearing his spark to shreds. It was preferable to stretching the plasma threads out and then grinding them to bits, apparently. Overlord chuckled and did it again. The overload was building, and he couldn't wait to see what a substantial bolt of discharge would do to his pet's spark. Would it fry the chamber's sensitive circuitry, or would the spark itself be forced to absorb the charge?
He rather hoped his overload would feed so much energy into the warden's spark that it'd tip his pet from screaming in pain to wailing with pleasure. Or both.
There were words starting to tumble out of the garbled static. Begging. Verbal prostration of the most degrading type: pleading for mercy, offering substitute acts of servitude, and promises of worship and willing submission. All things Fort Max earnestly meant at that moment. Overlord rolled his hips, and the groveling stuttered, overwhelmed by pain. It picked back up again immediately. The black helm began to nuzzle against him, and there were kisses being pressed along the seams of his gun hatches as his pet wildly beseeched him stop, please stop.
Overlord didn't. If anything, his screw turned faster.
He predicted two days before Fortress Maximus recovered enough. The Phase Sixer watched the Autobot convulse, beginning to seize up as spark-deep torture forced system shutdown, and he smirked. The drilling pace picked up. Maybe three days, or four. Soon, however. His pet would try murdering him again very soon, no matter what promises were being babbled right now.
He'd allowed the extraordinarily strong-willed mech unsupervised access to the shuttle's tool rack, after all. It was exciting not knowing what had been removed and hidden away for later. And there would be a later. Not always, no, no matter how special a pet this Autobot was - but for now, until one or the other of them was dead.
He had won the battle yet again today, and the spoils were sweet. Tomorrow, however, was another battle, and it was still to be seen if Overlord could win the war.
[* * * * *]